The Twelve Days of Christmas in Camelot
by Mnemosyne77
Summary: Camelot days set to the Twelve Days of Christmas. Chapter 8 has two warnings and a one-off 'M' rating.
1. A Partridge in a Pear Tree

On the first day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

Merlin woke and stretched with a gigantic yawn before looking out of the window and wondering why it was dawn. It was midwinter and Gaius should have woken him an age ago. This time of year he had to be up and doing his chores hours before the sun finally wrapped its fingers around the grey cloud; and even then it sometimes couldn't push a hole in the soggy overcast sky at all. He lay in bed, drowsy, for a few glorious minutes and then remembered that Arthur had said he was giving him the day off.

"I'm giving you the day off," said Arthur the day before the midwinter feast, "It's a time for celebration and I think my dirty socks can wait."

Merlin had nearly mentioned that Arthur's ripe socks were the one thing in the Kingdom that actually couldn't wait, but had thought better of it.

A day off.

And a clear and bright day by the looks of it.

Not only did he get to sleep in; a wonderful and glorious experience. Not only did he get to ignore all the chores that were, quite frankly, below a sorcerer of his standing. (He'd tried to explain this "above chores" notion to Gaius recently who had responded with a simple but devastating eyebrow. He hadn't mentioned it again.) Not only did he get to skip the horrific Midwinter boar hunt ("It's boaring," he'd declared last year, and _not one person had laughed_). No, this year he finally got the time to... build a snowman.

Merlin grinned and kicked off his shirts and thin blanket. He took off his grey sleeping shirt and sleeping trousers and put on that brown and grey daywear that nonetheless looked remarkably similar to his nightwear.

He considered the choices with much intensity for a moment and then chose the light blue neckerchief. Alyna, the new kitchen girl, had said it brought out his eyes. Then she'd asked him to remove it to see what it was hiding. He'd complied, though he'd had no clue what she was talking about. She'd seemed somewhat disappointed that it hid nothing. He'd overhead her later refer to him as 'sweet'.

"Women," he shrugged and put on his coat, pushing through the door and tripping down the stairs into the main room. Gaius had gone but had thankfully left him some bread warming a safe distance from the fire. He wrapped it up, tucked it inside his jacket, and ran out into the cold day.

Camelot was full of streets both paved and muddy so the Knights' training ground was the closest area of field that would be snow-covered. Merlin dodged and ducked through the population of Camelot, waving a hello here and there and failing to notice several amused grins. The residents had gotten used to seeing his long, lanky, dark-haired frame smiling next to the Prince. Some wondered what piece of mischief the cheeky young man was up to while Arthur was away.

Merlin was bitterly disappointed when he got to the training ground. Someone had obviously decided that the knights would need training in winter and had shovelled away all of the snow. He pouted briefly, a sight he would have been surprised to learn made many of the local serving girl's blood quicken, and gave some serious consideration as to his next course of action.

As he stood there, two children in snow-flecked jackets ran past him obviously from the direction of the city gates. It was a surprisingly clear day for this time of year and the gates had obviously been opened. This meant that outside would be fields of beautiful white snow.

Merlin grinned and ran off, following a group of children who had obviously had the same idea. A random thought noted that he was the eldest by more than 10 years; a thought he immediately dismissed. It wasn't often he got to forget his destiny for a while. He was going to enjoy it.

He ran through the gates and into the fields beyond. There had been some good snowfall over the past few weeks. Merlin remembered winters from his childhood when the snow would cover the ground inches thick, but Ealdor was further north than Camelot and therefore colder. He'd only had one winter in Camelot and had been bitterly disappointed by the amount of snow deposited. The strong falls this year had only heightened his excitement about having a free day.

He raced the children to a small clearing ringed by dormant fruit trees where half of Camelot's youth were enjoying the clear day. One older boy was coaching his younger sister in how to lob snowballs at an unsuspecting rival; others were doing what Merlin had been looking forward to. Making a snowman.

He quickly grabbed some snow and began piling it into the base. The bottom needed to be large and round, the top the same shape but smaller. Like one of the winter pears that had been served with the pheasant for last night's dinner (or at least the leftovers that he and Gwen had enjoyed in the kitchens afterward). He worked the snow by himself, the other children either ignoring him or intermittently staring at him as though he were crazy. They were sure adults didn't behave like this.

As the morning gave way to midday, Merlin raced over to one of the fruit trees and grabbed a twig for a nose; using two smaller twigs as eyes. In a quick flash of inspiration, he tore his light-blue neckerchief from his brown and grey outfit and tied it round the snowman's neck. He stood back to admire his masterpiece and felt a wave of pride at his creation.

Cocking his head reflectively, he realised that in fact his snowman looked remarkably life-like. He could almost imagine it bobbling around the field chasing the terrified children and...

He couldn't.

No, he really couldn't.

He thought about the horse and the smoke and the consequences of such silliness.

No, he really, really couldn't. Shouldn't.

Magic should be used for great deeds, said a deep, reprimanding voice in his head. He could have sworn it was Gaius.

He really really really really shouldn't.

Merlin, as you can imagine, was a believer in fate; a believer in destiny. It was, he'd realised lately, somewhat of an occupational hazard when your job description included 'actualising a prophecy', right after 'fireplace sweeping' but before 'boot cleaning'.

It was therefore understandable for him to think that fate had spoken when - just as he raised his hand toward the snowman, his eyes flashing gold - a giant boar burst through the trees and ploughed him into the icy figure.

As the pig ran off through the trees, the noble knights of Camelot running gracelessly behind it, Merlin lay on the ground in a pool of snow. He wondered momentarily how these things always seemed to happen to him and then gave himself a brief respite before attending to more important duties. Such as counting his limbs.

To his horror, he suddenly realised that where his hand had touched one of the twigs he had used for the eyes, his already-cast spell was bringing it to life. It slowly swelled and flowered and then formed a perfect pear by his left hand. He grabbed it, bringing it up to his chest and quickly taking a big bite, hoping to devour the evidence before someone noticed it.

As his lips closed around the fruit, the blonde hair and bright blue eyes of Arthur swam into view. Of all the expressions he expected to see – fear, confusion, anger, even concern – he certainly didn't expect the one he got.

"Well," said Arthur, a well-known look of pure amusement on his face as he looked at his brown and grey manservant on the snowy ground with a piece of fruit in his mouth.

"It's dinner."


	2. Two Turtle Doves

On the second day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

**

* * *

**

Gwen

When dawn came, Guinevere had been awake for several hours. She wasn't certain of the time. It was hard to tell in midwinter. She had very little to do today so didn't really mind. Morgana was traditionally very understanding this time of year and gave her free time to do all the things she needed to do. Time she no longer needed.

As the wan dawn light sidled through the window and slowly gave form to the simple room around her, she was staring at her wooden beamed ceiling with a despondent look upon her face.

A small sound and she whipped her head quickly to the left, convinced she saw movement, convinced her father was still there, convinced his love could still be felt. But he was gone. She had to remember that.

Gone.

She remembered when her father had died, Arthur had promised her a home for life. She had been so grateful. She still had a job and a roof over her head. But she was so alone.

In her memory dances the images of their life together in this house. Their happiness. He was a blacksmith. It was a respected profession and they may not have been rich but they were comfortable. They never wanted for food or company or love. There were those richer who had far less.

It's strange, she thinks to herself. In a way, her lot in life is more secure now. The future king has promised her that. A job. A house. This house. Once so full of joy and, this time of year, midwinter cheer. They would huddle together indoors from the cold, round the fire, him sitting and staring at the flames, her sewing for her customers.

This house. In Camelot. Home of her father's murderer. Home of Arthur whom she can never be with, whom she betrays with her thoughts, whom she has to see every day. Whom she cares for, maybe even loves. She thinks of Lancelot and she thinks of freedom. Sometimes the longing to run free is so strong it is a wild tide forcing her to a different shore. But one glimpse of Arthur and she is anchored here again, tossing on the waves.

The problem with anchors is that they secure but also chain.

She rolls out of bed and dresses quickly and matter-of-factly. Breakfast is simple and easy to prepare. She eats and then sits staring at her empty bowl wondering how she will fill up the void of long hours before Morgana expects her to work.

And she wonders when this home she loved so much became her prison.

**

* * *

**

Morgana

When dawn comes, Morgana is standing in her long satin nightgown staring down from her window. She wonders how long she has been standing there. She does not remember. Just that the square was dark and now the stone of the courtyard is visible. It is a dull and grey day but the day nonetheless. She has given Gwen most of the day off. It was a combination of habit and a desperate desire to be alone with her loneliness.

She sees herself as the 10 year old girl she once was; orphaned and alone. She had walked through that courtyard, flanked by dozens of her father's men determined to see her to safety. Uther had greeted her with love but all she could see was the man who had taken her father from her.

The courtyard is decorated wildly for the midwinter celebrations. It is a wild and raucous time. A time of fulfilling desires, of defying the death of winter, of reversing fortunes and seeing other points of view.

Last year, that courtyard had been filled with partying peasants while inside the castle she had ruled as the possible future Queen. She had worn her finest dresses, thrown arch looks at Knights and gloried in their confused desires. She had teased Arthur and had argued with Uther constantly, secure in his love. One day, they whispered, she would be Queen. And there was nothing she had wanted more. She had been so content.

She closes her eyes and tries to feel the magic inside her. It is so much a part of her that she cannot even feel different for its discovery. With the knowledge of it within her, she has lost her confusion but gained a new terror, a new isolation. She is trapped not just within the walls of a castle ruled by the man who killed her father but also within her own body.

She has food and beautiful clothing and servants and all the trappings of wealth. And yet she is alone. Sometimes she feels so lonely she can not even bear her own company anymore.

She remembers the last time she felt free. When she fled to the Druids. She had been so terrified of her magic and that terror had trapped her. Then she had found a place where she could truly be herself. Sometimes her mind flies where her body cannot and she soars out above the turrets of Camelot, toward the wild forests, toward the magic.

She looks back at her own richly-decorated chambers, her gigantic wardrobe filled with the finest gowns, her down-filled bed. Then she looks down on a courtyard decorated with all the colourful signs of midwinter.

And she wonders when the life she loved so much became her prison.

**

* * *

**

Gwen

There's a knock at the door. She stands up, her eyes red-rimmed from too many unshed tears. She tries for an emotion to steady her - anger, or at least a resolute determination - and marches to the door.

"Guinevere." It's Arthur, dressed in ordinary clothes he somehow wears as if they were costly robes. He nods formally. He has been avoiding her recently; since they kissed in the tent on Merlin's instructions, since they acknowledged that they can never be together.

She wants him to go away but does not know how to tell him that. She was the one who drew the line of royalty between them; she cannot ignore it now.

"Arthur," she responds, matching his tone. He walks past her into the dim and smoky room she lives in.

"Guinevere, I know it may not be appropriate," he begins, "but I bought you a gift for Midwinter."

"A gift?" she asks, confused, "why...?"

"Wait," he asks, "please hear me out. I just wanted to get you something. It doesn't mean anything, it's just a gift. Please accept it."

He holds out his hand with a small box but all she sees is a rope tethering her to this lonely life. She thinks for one second that the walls around her contract inward, the space she has to live in getting smaller.

"I don't want it," she says, angrily, "I don't..."

The tears that she had managed not to shed until now well up. She walks to the window hoping that he will not notice.

"What's wrong?" he asks bewildered by her reaction.

"I can't..." she starts. How on Earth can she tell him that she feels trapped? How can she be so ungrateful? None of this is his fault and yet she blames him.

"It's midwinter," she conceded finally, "it's cold, my father is gone and I am alone. I sit here in this house by myself and feel as though I'm imprisoned in some comfortable cage. Like I'm some sort of hunting bird. Useful, hard-working, cared for, but ultimately trapped. It's not that I can't fly away it's just that it makes so much sense not to."

She stopped, thinking she had gone too far, not sure she had the words to go far enough. He did not say anything, just turned toward the door and she thought she had lost him. She was supposed to be the sensible one. She didn't feel very sensible now.

Behind her, she heard Arthur in the kitchen and turned around surprised. He took her keys off the table, walked to the door and put them in the lock.

"If you are in prison," he said softly, "then you need to know that you are not imprisoned alone."

And he turned the key in the door, locking them in. Together.

**

* * *

**

Morgana

There's a knock at the door. She stands up, her eyes resolute, determined not to show her deepest emotions. Anger she can handle, it's a comfort, but her deeper feelings she needs to keep hidden.

She marches to the door and opens it.

"Milady." It's Merlin, dressed as always in clothes that seemed too large for him; a bright piece of material around his neck.

He inclines his head formally and she asks him in with a smile she manages to muster from somewhere. She wants him to go away but does not know how to tell him that. It seems rude when in the past he has done so much for her. But no matter how hard she tries she cannot see beyond her own loneliness and fear.

"Merlin?" she inquires. He walks past her into the lavish chambers.

"Morgana, I know it may not be appropriate," he begins, "but I bought you a gift for Midwinter."

"A gift?" she asks, confused, "why...?"

"I, I just feel maybe you might want one," he says lamely. "I just wanted to get you something. Please accept it."

He holds out his hand with a small box and she takes it, surprised and somewhat flattered. Merlin's uncomplicated romanticism is something she's always found attractive. She wonders what her life would be like if she were surrounded by men like him; kind and sweet and a little simple. To her frustration, she finds the emotions she has kept well hidden welling up. She walks to the window hoping that he will not notice.

"What's wrong?" he asks bewildered by her reaction.

"I can't..." she starts. How on Earth can she tell him how he feels? He may be kind and understanding; he may even have helped her before. But he is just a servant, a fact she has to remember. It would be his head in the basket long before hers.

"It's midwinter," she conceded finally, "it's cold, my father is gone and I am alone. I sit here in this room by myself and feel as though I'm imprisoned in some lavish cage. Like I'm some sort of beautiful songbird in a gilded prison. I long to fly away but the cage is locked and I cannot see a way free."

She stopped, thinking she had gone too far, not sure she had the words to go far enough. He did not say anything, just turned toward the door and she thought she had shocked him. She was supposed to be the strong one. She didn't feel very strong now.

To her surprise, she heard the door behind her close, the key slide into the lock. She swung around and he stood there, facing her, his eyes downcast.

"If you are trapped," he said huskily, "then trust me when I tell you that you are not trapped alone."

And he turned the key in the door, locking them in. Together.


	3. Three French Hens

The shore was a haven of calm pebbles in the morning; the small swells of the water a welcome contrast from the violent night they had just endured.

The three women picked through the debris of their ship, wondering where the water had dragged their crew, their retinue, their friends. They were all tall and very slim and dressed in the trousers and jerkin of a noble male. A casual witness, or even an observant one, would probably see three young, eerily beautiful, men on the shore gathering their possessions.

They spoke quietly and infrequently in French as they found all the errant sea had left them. They were calm despite the setback. There would be time to mourn and curse and panic. For now, they had to find shelter and food and a warm bed to lie in. Their clothes still hid their gender, for which they were grateful. They still had a small sum of money, their swords, the clothes on their back and their invaluable tokens of nobility.

As the sun rose to midmorning, they steeled themselves for the difficult journey ahead and strode off inland. Toward Camelot.

* * *

On the third day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

Olivia woke with confusion and wondered for a moment where she was. She sat up looking around the ornate chambers; the lavish drapes and elegant furniture. Then she remembered. Safe in Camelot, at least for the moment. She lay back down and took a moment to take the small joy of a comfortable bed in a secure room. She felt under the pillow and smiled slightly. Her dagger was still there and so she was protected.

The last few days had gone well. She reflected with satisfaction on their success. Uther had accepted their claim despite their bedraggled and comparatively stricken arrival just after midwinter. For a brutal tyrant, he was surprisingly gracious.

Seeing very quickly the role of women in his Court, however, she and her sisters were grateful for their advisor's recommendation regarding their gender. She was sure their legitimacy as diplomatic envoys would have been far more difficult to establish if Uther knew they were female.

Her only disappointment had come when she had lain eyes on the wonderful Sir Leon. Handsome, knightly and refined, he seemed everything she had ever wanted in a man. She was aware she would need more time than three days to make such an assessment but every minute she spent in the man's company she wanted more.

She sighed into her pillow and then cursed herself for sentimentality. If Rohan saw her like this, she would be furious. Her eldest sister would be told who to marry. As the youngest, she had her choice.

There was a knock at the door and then Merlin, her servant for her stay, came bursting in before she could grant him permission. It was a habit she tried very hard to find annoying but couldn't. She had walked past the Lady Morgana's chambers the other evening and saw the ebony-haired young man waiting outside for the Lady to admit him. He clearly made such an informal entrance only because he thought she was male. There was something almost adorable about him; as though he was the light-hearted younger brother she never had.

She threw back the covers; Sir Cesario greeting the morning with enthusiasm as he must. It was not entirely an act. She had training with Arthur's knights this morning and looked forward to impressing with her skills.

Merlin handed her the clothes he had set out for that morning and she moved behind the screen to change. It was a gamble, if she was honest, but Merlin seemed glad she preferred to dress herself and hadn't shown a tendency to leap behind the flimsy piece of wood.

She dressed slowly, hoping Merlin had never noticed her padded clothing; the extra layers she wore to hide her sex. In chainmail and armour, she was impossible to mistake for a woman but in ordinary clothes she was slightly too slender, her features slightly too fine, her skin too smooth.

If only their servants hadn't perished in the wreck.

When she was dressed, she stepped out and saw her breakfast waiting for her on the dining table. Merlin was already re-stoking her fire, preparing it for her comfort after training in the freezing winter day. He then started cleaning her room, a happy smile on his face.

He spoke to her every now and then in French, his grammar excellent if his accent unusual. She was still stunned that a peasant farmer had been given a classical education, but his mother had apparently had a significant drop in social status. She had insisted her son have the same education she did.

After breakfast, he quietly helped her with her chainmail and armour and sent her off to the practice fields.

* * *

Arthur and his Knights had been impressed, Rohan thought to herself. Sir Dernhelm, her masculine alter ego had certainly performed well, as had his brothers Sir Cesario and Sir Ganymede.

She smiled humourlessly to herself; lost in thought as she and her sisters prepared to return to their chambers. Their fighting skills were excellent. She in particular was a match for any of Arthur's knights if not quite Arthur himself. And being second best to Arthur Pendragon was hardly something to be ashamed of.

No, she was grim because of her sisters' behaviour. Olivia had always been a romantic. The youngest of three sisters, she knew she would be able to marry an appropriate man for love and often spoke of the time when she would meet this wondrous mythical being. It would have been more convenient if she could have avoided meeting him in Camelot.

If it wasn't bad enough having _Sir Cesario_ very obviously smitten with a slightly-nervous Sir Leon - a man who obviously did not live up to a Knightly reputation for preferring men in their beds – her other sister Rosalind had decided she approved of her father's plans to propose her marriage to Prince Arthur. He embodied the Knightly virtues, was a Prince and future King, and a superior swordsman. In Rosalinde's pragmatic eyes, that was marriage material. The good looks were an unexpected bonus.

Rohan wondered how Prince Arthur would feel about his marriage to _Sir Ganymede_. She'd counselled her father about this flaw in his plan. Their disguises may be good but at some point Arthur would realise he had been lied to. From all she'd seen of him and Uther, they would not be happy. She was her Kingdom's future ruler but her counsel had been ignored. This farce would not end well, she was sure.

Part of her annoyance, she was well aware, was frustration. Her father had advised her to avoid pregnancy before ascending the throne and had encouraged her natural preference for women. She often enjoyed a few hours in bed following a training session but her personal servant, a favourite who had come prepared to be disguised as a man, had died in the wreck.

She had tried to mourn her but as her father said, she was just a servant. She could be replaced. Rohan had given some thought to how she could be replaced in Camelot. There was a servant in the kitchens named Alyna who preferred men but seemed to have a precocious curiosity. She would no doubt have been persuaded but there was no way she could trust a stranger with the joint secret of her orientation and her gender.

For these reasons, she was terse and solitary when she joined her sisters in their walk back to the Castle.

"We need to discuss our father's plan for my marriage," said Rosalinde.

"I'm well aware," said Rohan shortly, "but if both of you could make your intentions and inclinations slightly less obvious it would be helpful. It is a short leap from thinking you are a man who prefers men to noticing your natural female appearance. Behave more appropriately from now on or one of them will notice."

"As for now, my idiot manservant will be cleaning my chambers. Let's go to Olivia's to talk."

* * *

"You need to be more careful, you know," said Merlin, cautiously.

He stood in the guest chambers facing the large down-filled bed; his hands busy with his daily task of changing the sheets. The three sister stood behind him, just returned from the Knights' training ground; their armour dented, their chainmail dirty with mud churned up from fighting on a ground softened by the melted snow.

Olivia shifted uneasily, embarrassed that her sisters had mastered such perfect looks of confusion on their faces. They stood there, biding their time, guarded about accidentally giving something away.

They had walked into the room confidently, not noticing either Merlin's presence or his studied silence. Rosalinde had nearly launched herself into a comparative discussion of Arthur's worth as a husband, before noticing the servant still cleaning the room.

Merlin turned around, his basket of dirty laundry by his feet.

"I debated whether I should say anything to you. I know I am just a servant but I've decided it's only fair to warn you," said Merlin.

"Uther believes that the world should operate in a certain way. He believes there is... some sort of... natural order ...and that is the way things should stay. Men should be men, women should be women, nobility should be nobility and servants should be servants. You have to be careful."

He cast his eyes down again and silently handed over Cesario's piece of fabric, washed now, the blood taken care of.

"Your servants must have had a good way of getting rid of this sort of evidence."

He smiled ruefully. "I guess you can hide everything except your menses. From now on, you should give this type of thing to me and I'll get rid of it without anyone noticing.

Then he simply picked up the dirty sheets in his basket and headed out the door and back to his chores. As he exited, he looked back for a moment and added, "Guinevere, the Lady Morgana's maid, also suspects. It's your decision, of course, but I think it would be best if you gave me permission to tell her. Between the two of us, we can protect you but if Uther ever found out...," he shook his head, his mouth set in a grim line, "regardless of how he would have greeted you as women, he does not like being deceived. Nor does he like to feel the fool."

And he continued through the door leaving three stunned women behind him. Their secret had been discovered in only three days. And by a mere servant.

"Humiliating," seethed Rohan but Olivia only said, "he's even more intelligent than I thought." She nodded. "He could have turned us in already. We could use his assistance."

"Not that we have any choice," noted Rosalind, "not that we have any choice."


	4. Four Calling Birds

**A/N So when I planned this out, Three French Hens was supposed to be a whole lot of cross-dressing fun to help you through Four and Five, which are serious. Somehow it ended up quite serious and slightly ominous, which makes 2, 3, 4 and 5 serious pieces all in a row. Four in particular cannot be classified as fun in any sense of the word. I make a commitment right now that 6 will be funny and very silly and I'll try and make 7 light-hearted as well. As for 8... oh, I can't wait to see what you think about 8.**

* * *

On the fourth day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

My name is unimportant, as are all our names now. I have gone by many anyway, in my time. Druids lead a precarious life and my life has been no exception. I made a dangerous gamble coming to Camelot and the die cast were not in my favour. It was a difficult decision to leave the Kingdom, to strike out for other lands but I am no rebel, I have no magic, and I wished only to live once again in peace. All I wanted was supplies for our journey but I did not even make it to the city gates before being captured by Uther's knights.

We had sat in the clearing, our dark brown clothing blending into the familiar forest around us, risking a fire. It was a risk I should not have taken. Alvarr and his band of magical insurgents had struck against Uther and Uther was striking back. Sir Goshawk and Sir Sparrowhawk had been surprisingly noble about the arrest. They could see we were harmless but the law was the law. We are collateral damage in a war that has never been declared; consumed by the fire of Uther's hate. My only regret is my sister. She does not deserve to die for my mistake.

* * *

My name is unimportant. I am too young to be given an adult name anyway. I am in a cell with my older brother, Druids in a Kingdom where being born is a crime. I am grateful I cannot see the mud and filth on my dark brown clothing. The cells are not clean.

I use my magic to create a ball of light in my hand. The guard shrinks back in fear and I see for the first time how truly terrified he is of magic. I douse the flame. I cannot imagine what could have happened to make him so fearful of something I have felt stirring in me since birth. For the first time, I am exposed to an enemy I have been taught by many to hate. I see only a frightened man living day to day. He is trying to survive as are we all. But in the game of survival, I know that I have lost. My brother and I will be executed at dawn and my abilities are not strong enough to keep us alive. I have failed him and it is my failure to the gentle man who has always protected me that hurts most. I think it will hurt more than being consumed by Uther's flames. I think so.

* * *

My name is important and I will yell it to the cold and unforgiving sky before I die. I am a priest, an adherent of the old religion, one of those who keeps the world in balance. My black robes signify my position and that position is important. I am important and the end Uther has planned for me does not change that.

I still my anger. It serves no purpose. I do not have the power of life and death nor the power to kill. I am a healer. But I cannot heal Uther's pain and so I cannot heal the wounds he will inflict on me. I will be baked in his fire. I will be consumed by his hatred. My death is now inevitable.

It was Shikra who turned me in, I am sure. He had been angry at our transaction. A visiting merchant from a far-away land, he had sought me out in Camelot's back alleys to heal his daughter who was gravely ill. Her illness was fatal and so I could not intercede. A life requires a life and I do not have that power. I saw the anger in his eyes; saw my death in his expression. For a moment I had been tempted to tell him that there was one in Camelot who had that power. I could feel him, as could we all. Not men like Alvarr whose anger and hatred had blinded them to the purpose of the magic they believed they defended. True adherents of the world's balance knew him as though a light shone upon him from above.

Nimueh's soul had been black and hard. She had smiled her sweet smiles but her plots were wrong and the world's balance was better for her passing. I could feel Shikra's soul and it was the same as Nimueh's at the end. Exposing the boy to him would not be the right thing to do. When I shout my name to the sky, he will be there and he will hear. My name is important and I will die knowing the great man will remember it.

* * *

My name is unknown by any man left alive. Gaius, the old court physician, may remember it perhaps but he would have to connect me to the young boy he knew so many years ago. And I have changed so much since then. I had been small and slim and gentle. I had been a fool. My magic had been put to silly games and to helping with my daily chores. I was tall now and strong. I had found comfort and it had made me fat. I sat in my cell, my yellow clothing soiled by their filth and seethed in my anger. I had tried to escape but had failed. All my plans had failed.

It was the serving girl named Besra who was at fault. I was sure of it. I had forced her into my bed and I often dreamed of magic. I must have said or done something in my sleep to have alerted her and she had seen the opportunity to pay me back. The bitch had run to Uther's men and all my schemes had fallen apart. I had raised my arm, my eyes flashing gold as I tried to strike down Uther's son when he came to arrest me. But he was protected and I had failed. I wondered if Uther knew his son's manservant was a warlock. Well, as of the morning he would. I may not have been able to punish Uther for the purge; for the deaths of my family and friends. But I could have the satisfaction of my revenge against the traitorous boy who serves magic's enemies.

When they come to get me, when they put me in their oven, I will scream his name to the sky. And I will die knowing that he will burn as well.

* * *

Dawn brought another execution. Merlin tried to avoid them but for some reason Arthur had insisted. For a moment, Merlin had wondered whether Arthur had seen the magic he had wielded to protect him. Maybe insisting on his presence was a warning, or a threat. Maybe it meant nothing. Arthur remained confused about magic. Maybe he just needed Merlin there for support.

Merlin looked up to Morgana's window and saw her standing there blank-faced. She refused to attend but found herself drawn to the spectacles anyway. He wondered if Arthur would notice if he went to her. She seemed so lonely right now; the other night she had called herself a trapped bird. It had taken many hours to cheer her. He seemed to be the only one right now who could break through her wall.

The four prisoners were shuffled up to the pyre Uther had built in the square. Magic users never used to be burnt. The Witchfinder may have gone but some of his influence remained. They stood there, black, yellow, and dark brown, and Merlin thought of roasting poultry in the kitchen fire. They had eaten so much food in the last few days. Here was more for Uther's appetite.

The flames leapt up and the two Druids simply stood there, terrified but stoic. Merlin could feel a small spark of power from the girl but the man had none. He was an innocent in the truest sense of the word. He did not deserve to die. The yellow one was a different story, although Merlin wished there were a less painful way for the danger he represented to be dealt with. He was yelling something through the flames but no one could hear what he was saying. Beside him was the man in black, a serene expression on his face. He looked straight at Merlin and Merlin felt him speak in his mind.

_I will remember_, he replied. And then he turned away, the pain of so much pointless death overwhelming him. Morgana was gone from her window.

Arthur looked at him surprised. He'd thought he'd want to see the evil sorcerers burnt. He looked at the pain and shame on Merlin's face and realised he was wrong. And he knew for the first time that it was possible to hate without anger. He just wished he knew how.


	5. Five Golden Rings

On the fifth day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

This was the hardest time of year for men like him. Not that life wasn't always hard. He had a wife and eight children. Feeding and clothing them was difficult at the best of times. But midwinter was a time of scarcity. Uther was not an ungenerous king and he often shared much bounty at this time of year. But the bulk of it went to his Lords and Knights and the visiting nobility. It still left men like him roaming the countryside every day trying to find food and firewood.

By law, the woods belonged to the King. There were areas peasants such as himself were allowed, but much of the larger game was protected by law. Killing a boar or many of the birds was punishable by death. In this part of the forest, pheasants were common. But pheasants are the royal bird and only members of Uther's family and their nobles are allowed to eat them.

The birds also congregate here because of the trees. Not only can he not hunt here, he cannot chop down a tree for firewood lest the pheasants leave the area. At home, his family shivers by the hearth and there is no way he can ease their suffering. He hears a rustle and looks around to see a pheasant scratching the ground near him.

He admires its long tail and colourful plumage; the golden ring around its neck. But all he really sees is a meal for his family. He sees his children with full bellies, his wife with a smile on her face.

For a moment, the temptation is overwhelming. No one else is around. It is midwinter and late afternoon. If he killed it and his family kept their silence, no one need know. The royal family would hardly be deprived from the absence of one bird.

Why should the people he cares about starve when the nobility has so much?

He takes a small, almost unnoticeable, step in the bird's direction but stops when he hears voices. Horses now and yelling. They come into view and it's a hunting party led by Prince Arthur and the Lady Morgana.

He bows deeply but they fail to even notice he is there. From the hand of one of the Prince's retainers bleeds five pheasants for the table. He doubts it will be even a quarter of the feast for tonight and he is filled with impotent anger. The world is the way it is; there is little point railing against it. But for one tiny moment he does.

The moment passes and so does the party. He stares after the juicy birds with longing and then whips his head around at another movement. It's the Prince's manservant, following up the party at the rear. He nods and greets John, a peasant in the same simple clothes he wears. John thinks for one moment that the boy gives him a strange look but ignores it. Hunger has affected his mind.

Resigned to his lack of success, he heads back to his small cottage, gathering the odd stick for firewood on his way.

As he walks into their tiny room, five faces turn to him. The elder three are 9, 10 and 12 and old enough to work. Hopefully they will be home soon with some coins or food.

John places his meagre collection of kindling in the dirty fireplace and lights it. The children in their thin clothes move closer to the welcome warmth; waiting impatiently for the fire that will take away for one moment their chill.

John sits down at the back of the single room. He huddles into his coat and tries to stay warm as night falls and the temperate drops quickly. A gust of wind blows through and his wife walks in the open door. She has clutched in her hand a loaf of bread. It is small but good and she quickly shares it out to the children, leaving a mouthful for herself and her husband.

As the bread hits his stomach, it growls and he thinks that eating was a mistake. Now he just wants more. As he sits there, the three eldest children come home. They have at least eaten something at work, but do not bring anything for the other children.

There is a knock at the door and John gets up to answer it, wondering who it could be. He opens it and stares in astonishment.

"I'm sorry to intrude," says the Lady Morgana. She's flanked by the Prince's manservant. What's his name again? Merlin.

Embarrassed about his poor house, he does not want to invite her in but does not know how to refuse. With a small gesture, he allows her entrance. She walks past and he notices that Merlin, following her, has several parcels.

The smell from those parcels is extraordinary.

"Please forgive me," says Morgana, "I don't wish to intrude and I don't want you to think this is charity but..."

"I saw you in the woods today," continued Merlin. "You looked so hungry and you had obviously not found any food. I... I know that you have children and I... I don't wish to imply that you cannot provide for your family but..."

"We have so much food up at the Castle for the midwinter feasting," said Morgana. John wonders if they always finish each other's sentences. It was a strange intimacy for two people from such different stations.

"If you would accept it, we would like to offer you some of it," finished Merlin, "it's nothing special; just some meat and bread and sweetmeats. Some leftover pheasant."

And they handed over the five parcels of food. He would have liked to have held to his pride and rejected it, but how could he do so when there were nine hungry mouths in the room?

He thought of those full bellies and his wife's smile and he accepted the food in some shock.

"Thank you," he said, wondering how he could ever really thank them.

"You're welcome," said Merlin and Morgana. And they left the family to their midwinter feast. Tonight for one moment they will dine like Kings.


	6. Six Geese a Laying

On the sixth day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

Word spread quickly; gossiping tongues running wild at the news. The trickle of whispered voices had started just after dawn and now the entire Kingdom knew.

The Court was in an uproar. Uther had started yelling before breakfast and had not yet stopped. Arthur had seemed upset, then concerned, and then angry. He'd visited the Lady Morgana's servant, Guinevere and since then had walked around with an expression of confused happiness on his face. It was by far the most interesting response to the situation and it was noted by many.

His gangly manservant, Merlin - who somehow managed to also be manservant to the visiting knight Sir Cesario as well as assistant to the court physician, and therefore, some people were convinced, never actually slept – was working round the clock with Gaius to find the cause. When he wasn't massaging the Lady Morgana's feet, of course. This was also noted.

As the day progressed, three more women were found in the same situation. One was a noblewoman and one a servant. The latter had been accused of lying to get attention but several people had testified to the increasingly-furious King that she had been normal the day before.

Worse, the ironically-named Princess Chastity, visiting from a nearby Kingdom, was also affected and her protective father would be furious.

It was obviously magical, it was probably evil, if it wasn't rectified soon heads would likely roll. But the evidence was right there before the world and there was little anyone could do to hide it.

The Lady Morgana, her maid, the Lady Elaina, Princess Chastity, and a chambermaid were definitely, obviously, frighteningly pregnant.

"Near term," the midwife had pronounced on examining the Lady Morgana that morning. Morgana wasn't sure if she should be horrified at just how large her distended belly was and how painful her milk-filled breasts were, or just relieved that if she was near term the ordeal would soon be over... although...

"Are you telling me I'm about to give birth?" she cried, horrified. Her stomach suddenly seemed larger, the wriggly babe within it rounder. It couldn't be physically possible, she was sure.

"Do you mean I have to push... that... out of my... ah!"

"I refuse," she stated with conviction, and then got Merlin to move to the other foot. They were unbelievably swollen. How did women put up with this?

"Morgana," he said in a gentle tone, "we will do our best to find the enchanter who did this to you but if we can't, I'm afraid there is no alternative. The baby is simply too large. Until we find a cure, birth is the natural outcome of, you know, your... situation."

He was being reasonable. She hated when he was reasonable. No man should be that understanding. She wanted briefly to throw something at his head but nothing was in reach and if she did he might stop what he was doing.

"This is your fault," she said unreasonably, a statement that caused instant silence in the room. She saw the expression on Merlin's face and suddenly realised what she'd said. Thankfully Arthur and Uther were waiting outside while the midwife examined her. But Gaius was looking moderately stunned at the implication.

"Not literally," she said, quickly.

Then she had yelled at Merlin to go and find a cure and then yelled at him for abandoning her when he got up to leave. Then she'd cried and said he was so eager to leave because she was fat and ugly.

All in all, Merlin had been glad to move to the next patient, at least until Sir Sparrowhawk's much-younger wife, the Lady Elaina, also blamed him for her pregnancy... and then propositioned him. The chambermaid had five children already and seemed bored by the experience... except for those moments she was screaming abuse at him for his role in her predicament.

By the time Princess Chastity, someone Merlin had never even met before, laid the fault for her pregnancy at his door, Gaius was finally able to be convinced that Morgana's comment had been hormonal. Or purely irrational.

Chastity had been the worse; her name apparently being representative of her only defining personality trait. She kept rocking back and forward, chanting, "I am a maid," over and over again. Merlin felt sorry for her. For the first hour. Then he had to stop himself from hitting her. Honestly, he thought, her virtue was hardly the most important issue right now.

Gwen was the only one being stoic. Instead of yelling and crying, they found her sitting in her house with a dreamy, absorbed look on her face. She had her swollen feet up on a chair and was caressing her belly tenderly. Merlin had never really considered it before, but he realised she would love to have children.

He took her hand during the examination but she seemed completely captivated by her infant.

"Have you seen Arthur?" she asked him.

"Ah, no," replied Merlin, wondering what Arthur had made of Gwen's sudden sprint toward motherhood.

"I told him I did not know who the father was but I wished the babe were his. He left; I don't know whether he is angry or just surprised."

"If I see him, I'll send him to you," he promised.

"Thank you," she said and smiled at him sweetly as he got up to leave.

"Oh, and Merlin," she called.

"Yes Gwen."

"I hate you with a fiery passion for doing this to me."

"Naturally," he replied.

"Gaius, what do we do?" asked Merlin, as they left Gwen's house.

"Well," said Gaius thoughtfully, "seeing as how you have been accused of impregnating half the Kingdom, I suggest that you gather the women somewhere and take care of them. The midwife is able to handle their medical needs. I need to do some research to find out how this happened. Oh, and Merlin, don't get any more women pregnant while I'm gone."

Merlin just looked at him. "You are enjoying this far too much, you know? And five women hardly counts as 'half the kingdom'."

"I don't know. For all I'm aware you've only just started," he said dryly and he walked slowly in the direction of his rooms. "Don't worry about it Merlin, they're scared young women and you were the only male under 60 in the room. Nonetheless, that means you're probably the best person to care for them."

"Right, of course. It's just, if I was going to be accused of getting five women pregnant, you'd think I'd have been having more fun."

Gaius just smiled at him affectionatiely, "Oh and Merlin, try to keep a lookout for other cases. There may be some woman somewhere too scared or embarrassed to admit to their condition."

"Oh no," said Merlin to himself and he ran to Olivia's chambers. If she or her sisters had woken up pregnant then...

He burst into the room and, sure enough, he found Rosalinde sobbing over her swollen abdomen; being comforted by one sister and scorned by the other.

"Will you just stop crying," yelled Rohan.

"Will you just stop yelling," yelled Olivia.

"You couldn't wait for a worse time to suddenly become nine months pregnant, could you? In case you haven't noticed, we're supposed to be_ men_."

"It's hardly her fault, so yelling at her won't help. You're only making her more upset."

"It's obvious this is unnatural. We have to think through it logically and find a solution. Getting upset won't help. _Will you stop crying?_"

Rosalinde, probably understandably, just cried harder. Rohan took a breath and Merlin saw his opportunity to intervene. Once he had calmed Rosalinde down, he was able to discover that she too had woken up this morning pregnant.

"And (hic)..... I (hic)...I (hic) haven't done anything to (hic)... it's not fair (hic) because I... I'm supposed to get married first (hic) and I..."

"I know," he said gently, "five other women are in this position. I promise you, we are trying to find a cure and I will do everything I can to make sure no one finds out you're really a woman, ok?"

"This is all your fault," she said and glared at him.

"Of course it is," he replied.

* * *

"Merlin."

"Milady, what are you doing walking around?"

He'd just left the girls' chambers and was preparing to gather the five other women in one room when he'd come across Morgana wandering around the castle, her feet bare and her pregnant stomach threatening at any moment to throw her off balance.

"Where did you go? I needed you."

"Ah, sorry milady, Gaius and I have been examining all the women who have been affected. Did you need something important?"

"Yes, pickles."

"Pickles?"

"Yes, I needed pickles. Desperately. And you weren't there."

"I'm... sorry," was all he could manage. Honestly, if this was expectant fatherhood he could probably do without it.

"Anyway, while I was looking for you and the pickles, I saw a woman in the kitchens stirring something into a pot and cackling about how all men are to blame and all women should share her pain. Do you think maybe that could have something to do with all of this?"

So, then Gaius found the spell that caused the pregnancy, Merlin reversed it, and Arthur arrested the sorcereress. Apparently she had become pregnant unexpectedly and wanted other women to endure what she'd endured. As she was dragged away by Uther's guards, some witnesses could have sworn she looked at Arthur's manservant and yelled, "it's all your fault." But that seems unlikely now, doesn't it?


	7. Seven Swans a Swimming

On the seventh day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

"It's winter," said Arthur, annoyed, "winter! Who goes bathing in winter?"

"We do, apparently," noted Merlin jovially. He didn't particularly want to visit the hot springs either but was enjoying Arthur's quiet frustration.

They rode at the head of a considerable caravan, followed by Sir Peregrine, Sir Goshawk, the annoying Princess Chastity's three imaginatively-named brothers - Honour, Gallant and Chivalry - and their attendants armed with tents, furs, food, and mead. Arthur had asked the three French knights to join them but Merlin had said they had other plans.

"It'll be fine when we're in the water," said Merlin, "they are after all _hot_ springs."

"In the water is fine, Merlin; it's getting to and from the water that I'm worried about."

"It's a mild day today," countered Merlin, "the mildest we've had this year."

"This year so far consists of only seven days, Merlin." Arthur was getting infuriated now.

"Well, that depends on what calendar you use, Sire, and whether you count the solstice as the beginning of the new year. Now, for the period preceding the Julian reforms..."

"Shut up, Merlin."

"Yes Sire. Did you know that in the Byzantine empire they count the 1 September as the start of the new year?"

"I'm going to get boring calendar facts for the next hour, aren't I Merlin?"

"Yes Sire."

"Lord, just kill me now."

It was an hour's ride to the springs normally, but their large retinue and the fact they were making the trip in midwinter had slowed them somewhat and it was nearing midday by the time they reached the bank of the steaming waters.

As unenthused as they'd both been by the plan, both Merlin and Arthur had to admit that the warm water looked very inviting on a cold winter's day. Without much ado, all seven men stripped off and leapt into the waters as their attendants set about making a camp and preparing their lunch.

Arthur splashed Merlin and instantly regretted it as the slim man disappeared below the waters. Arthur could swim in a rudimentary way but Merlin's lithe body cut through the waters as though he was some sort of sea creature. Arthur lost track of him below the mist that formed on the waters and then cried out as he was tugged from below and dragged under the surface.

He rose spluttering to a laughing Merlin and plotted his revenge as the five other noblemen laughed as well.

A shout went up from their retinue and the royal swimmers craned their head to see what was happening. One of their servants ran over to the bank and waved to get the Prince's attention.

"Sire, the women's party have caught up with us and are very annoyed that we are already here."

"The women's party," exclaimed Arthur, "what women's party?"

"The Lady Morgana says she thought of this first and you stole her idea. She says she planned to come out here today and that the men should do the chivalrous thing and make way."

"Well, they can join us if they want to," said Goshawk with a leer, much to Gallant and Chivalry's disapproval. Sir Peregrine even threw a censorious look his way, and he was used to Goshawk's lewdness.

"You can tell the Lady Morgana that she should try a different spot for her picnic today," said Arthur. "We are already bathing and we are staying where we are. And Merlin, if you even try to argue Morgana's case I will put you in the stocks and hand out the potatoes myself."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Sire," said Merlin, quickly.

"Guinevere, the Lady Morgana's maid, suspected that may be your answer. She asked if that is really the Knightly thing to do."

Arthur paused briefly. He looked back to see a knowing expression of amusement on Merlin's face. Definitely the stocks.

"Fine," he said, "we will do the Knightly thing and remove ourselves. Tell the women to please wait a suitable distance away and we will tell them when we are decent."

The other men nodded; Merlin looking amused, Goshawk looking disappointed and Peregrine and the three princes looking approving.

They had just exited the water and walked to their piles of clothing when a loud scream rent the air. It was obviously Guinevere.

Without stopping to think, Arthur and Merlin grabbed two swords and raced through the bushes toward the scream. They burst into the clearing where the ladies stood, swords brandished and asked the frightened women what was wrong.

"We're fine," said Morgana, "the Princess Chastity thought she saw something and instantly assumed it was a bandit come to ravish her. I'm afraid her fear infected Guinevere who screamed."

She looked with some contempt at Chastity, who was passed out cold on the ground. "It was a flock of birds."

She looked back around and suddenly stopped and stared, mostly at Merlin while trying to pretend she wasn't looking mostly at Merlin. Guinevere was fixated on Arthur, her eyes careening wildly and then being drawn back in.

"Erm, your highness," said the Lady Elaina. She was a married woman with a child and things like this did not phase her, "you and your servant appeared to be unclothed."

"Merlin, you're naked," managed Morgana.

Arthur and Merlin looked down and then looked at each other and then looked down again. Then they looked at the group of women, all in various stages of amusement, curiosity or embarrassment.

"Um," they said together, "we'll be going now."

And as they strode off back toward the hot springs, the women could have sworn they heard Arthur yelling, "it's winter, alright. Winter. It's cold. Exposed before half the women in the Kingdom and it's bloody winter!"

And quietly, and without saying anything out loud, half the women's party decided that next time they had this plan they would sneak up on the bathing men more quietly. Even if it was winter.


	8. Eight Maids a Milking

**WARNING: This chapter has been given a one-off 'M' rating. It has very strong sexual references and adult themes.**

**In the middle ages, "going-a-milking" was a euphemistic way of asking for sex or marriage (or both). Yep, this whole "Twelve Days of Christmas" song is basically about food, sex and partying – eating and fornicating being two of the things people did a lot of when they were stuck inside over midwinter. **

**And on this piece, we have a...**

**Warning#2: I have written a canon character as being gay. ****There is nothing in canon to suggest his sexuality either way so I hope you cope and.... **

_**...You have been warned**_**.**

* * *

On the eighth day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

**

* * *

**

One

Alyna grunted as she kneaded and pounded the dough into submission. Her hands and arms were dusted with flour and she tried to use her breath to force her hair out of her eyes. The stray brown curl would not budge and she finally resorted to using her hand to move it; a smudge of flour being left down her cheek.

"Here, let me help you," said a voice. It was Merlin, Arthur's manservant, an adorable grin on his funny but attractive face. He slowly wiped away the flour and tucked the errant hair behind her ear.

"Thank you, Merlin," she smiled and looked straight into his eyes, hoping to see a response. Since she'd started working here a few weeks ago, she'd originally tried to seduce a Knight or two. She'd even succeeded on occasion. She loved the feeling of power it gave her to have them beg her for their company. They were Knights and she was a servant but in the bedchamber she was in control.

But Merlin was something else. It was his innocence that drew her. He reminded her of the boys she had grown up with. She had flirted with them but had lain with nearly none of them. She had enjoyed the power of rejecting their clumsy advances.

At first she'd flirted with Merlin out of habit, expecting the same confused desire of the village boys from her small farming community. To her surprise, he'd seemed immune to her advances. She had seen how unusually close he was to his master and had thought he may prefer the Prince's bed to hers. But she had watched them both closely and soon realised that was not the case.

A man like him should be desperate to have her by now. It made no sense. She was no beauty, had never been, but men had always been attracted to her unassuming short stature and sensual figure. The only explanation was that he was so innocent he did not know what she was offering.

In that instant, when his hands grazed lightly over her cheek and she craned her head up to his eyes, she decided. She was going to have him. That innocence was going to be hers. Midwinter was the perfect opportunity too. Everyone was so caught up in their own debauchery they probably wouldn't even notice. She just had to decide how to go about it.

"Alyna!" snapped the head cook and the girl turned her attention back to her task. Merlin grinned again and rolled his eyes before moving over the main stove and charming some food out of the irate chef. There was yet another feast at lunch today and the kitchens were bustling with the frantic cooking that accompanied such excess.

Alyna overheard that Arthur had decided to take some of their noble guests hunting and had requested food. She grinned evilly when she heard Merlin say that he had to stay behind. Sir Cesario was not hunting so he and Sir Leon could play Morris and Merlin had to stay in Camelot in case the French knight needed anything. Nothing could be more perfect.

She handed the dough over to one of the other girls and washed and dried her hands.

"I'll help Merlin with the food," she offered sweetly. Merlin gave her a grateful look and they gathered all that they could carry before moving down to the courtyard. Arthur and several of Camelot's guests gathered there preparing to move out.

"Merlin, you idiot," said Arthur in annoyance, "it's about time. Honestly, what took you so long?" Arthur scowled at him, but Merlin just grinned and bore the insult.

"Here you go, Sire," he said and handed over the food. Arthur grunted at the extensive amount Merlin had been able to acquire. He obviously didn't know how to compliment him so he just loaded the supplies onto the horses and then dismissed his servant.

Merlin started back toward the castle and Alyna quietly kept in step with him. If she was lucky, he'd forget she was supposed to be back at the kitchens and let her stay with him until she saw her opportunity. As they stepped into the hallway to the guest chambers, she pulled him close and held his hand, her breast deliberately brushing against his arm.

He smiled at her but she couldn't see anything but friendship in his eyes. Damn him. She stopped him near an alcove.

"Can I tell you a secret?" she giggled and pulled him closer. He gave her a quick quizzical glance and she stood on her toes to whisper into his ear. Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw the Lady Morgana stop for one minute and look at them. She ignored her; who cared what servants did with each other at midwinter? She feared no reprisals for her brazenness. Then having pulled him off balance, she threw him into the alcove and pressed her lips to his.

He froze for one moment and for a brief second she thought her boldness would work. And then he angrily pulled her arms off him and pushed her away. She stepped back in, one hand on his chest as the other slid down and into the top of his trousers. In a sultry voice she asked him if he didn't find her attractive.

"No," he said definitely, pushing her back and wriggling round her and out of the alcove, "and don't do that again." He walked off angrily.

She considered going after him for one moment but, as she took a step in his direction, a gloved hand slid around her neck from behind.

"It seems you've been rejected," said a smooth voice. She turned to find the eerily-beautiful Sir Dernhelm behind her. She considered his effete good looks and then smiled at him, looking up through her lashes in a way she knew drove most men crazy. Men that weren't idiot servants with big ears, that is.

"It appears so," she said softly.

"Well," said Dernhelm, his gloved fingers stroking her neck in a way that sent shivers down her spine. "Let's see if I can't assist."

Maybe this wouldn't be such a boring Midwinter after all, she thought, as they strode off toward his chambers.

**

* * *

**

Two

With a dull thud of wood-on-wood, Sir Leon lined up his Morris pieces and smiled ruefully at Sir Cesario.

"I win again," he said. He had a way of claiming victory that made you think he was almost embarrassed about it. He was charming, sophisticated, kind, even-tempered, intelligent and modest. Every minute she'd spent with him over the past week had only re-enforced her initial impression of him.

She sighed inwardly and hoped her expression of fruitless adoration did not extend to her face. She knew half the Court was aware of her feelings toward the Knight. He was probably aware of them as well. He somehow made it very clear that he was uninterested in men while at the same time making her feel she hadn't been rejected.

Rosalinde may prefer a more aggressive masculinity and Rohan's preferences for women were longstanding. For her, she had always dreamed of a man of culture and refinement. Well, here he was and he thought she was male.

Mentally she groaned in frustration. She and Rohan had had a screaming brawl the night before. So bad that Merlin had rushed in to tell them to argue more quietly because they could hear them in the hall and they sounded like women.

She'd wanted to reveal herself to Leon. How was she supposed to woo the man she wanted to wed when he thought she was the wrong gender?

Rohan, as the eldest sister, had flatly forbidden her to say anything. Rohan had argued that she was just as frustrated but had not revealed her secret just to relieve that frustration.

Rosalinde hadn't understood what all the emotion was about. She had always thought rather than felt. As the heir to the throne, Rohan's marriage would be arranged. It was the custom and had been for many years. Rosalinde had elected to have her father help her choose. She didn't care as long as he was noble and the marriage gave their Kingdom a political advantage.

"You two may have no choice in who you marry but I do," she'd seethed, "and now that I have chosen I should have the right to ensure his affections while I have the opportunity."

"You will take no action that will jeopardise our position here," Rohan had ordered her. "We are here to set up diplomatic relations and to make a recommendation regarding an alliance with Camelot through marriage. That is all. If you've gone and fallen in love with some man, it can pursued at a later date."

"At a later date, he may already be wed."

"I don't care. If you are discovered, you jeopardise not just our diplomatic mission but our very lives. You will not tell Sir Leon your true identity. Do I make myself clear?"

"Fine," Olivia had shouted and left the room. She'd felt like a child storming off after an argument but couldn't bear to stay in her sister's chambers any longer.

She looked up from the board and smiled resignedly at Leon, "you win again," she conceded. "Another game?"

To her surprise, Leon looked at her shyly and dropped his eyes, a blush spreading over his cheeks.

"Actually," he said and had to stop and clear his throat, "ahem. Actually, I was wondering if you'd prefer to have an aperitif. In my chambers."

And he'd looked back up at her again with an unexpected hope flaring in his eyes.

"But I thought..." she started.

"I... um... ahem... I've never...ah... before... with a man," he said, "but I... well... there's just something about you." The stuttering stopped as he gained more confidence.

"I can't get you out of my mind. Cesario, I've tried every way I can to ignore these strange feelings but when I'm with you....when I'm with you, I'm happy. I don't care if you're a youth, I don't care about anything else. You make me happy."

And he hesitantly brought his hand up and over the top of the board to take her hand in his and then he smiled at her.

And she knew - no matter what happened or no matter how he reacted to her secret - she knew that she at least was going to get a happy ending. And she smiled back.

**

* * *

**

Three

The dogs ran ahead of the horses, chasing after the stag with the hunters in a fast but measured pursuit. Arthur drew his horse up quickly, letting the rest of his men fly by him. His horse's gait was strange and he was starting to wonder if he'd missed a stone in his shoe or some other problem.

"Are you alright, your highness?" inquired a clear, high voice.

It was Sir Ganymede, his dark blonde hair and clear hazel eyes giving him an especially effeminate look on the overcast day.

"I'm fine, Ganymede, it's just my horse. I'm worried the groom missed something this morning and I don't want her to go lame by pushing her."

Rosalinde nodded approvingly. Caring for your horses was a quality of which she approved. It demonstrated consideration for the lesser beings of the world. A man like that was apt to treat his peasants well also, which showed foresight. Kingdoms could fall from the bottom or the top and it was best to have a strong control of both.

She and Arthur's horses fell into step and she thanked the heavens for this opportunity. She'd watched Arthur very carefully the last few days; assessing his potential as a husband and watching out for any flaws. She'd begun to suspect there was someone he had a preference for and needed to gauge how much of a threat she was. If Arthur was near betrothed to another woman, she would have to start looking elsewhere.

"My Lord, what think you of love?"

Arthur looked at her sharply, probably wondering what had inspired such a strange question.

She smiled back reassuring.

"I'm sorry to pry. It seems that this time of year, everyone gathers in one place to celebrate the solstice and to find a mate. I was wondering if your eyes had been caught my any young woman."

Arthur hesitated and then admitted, "there is someone, actually. There has been for quite a long time."

"Quite a long time," she asked, confused, "and why then are you and she not wed?"

He smiled slightly, almost a bit sadly. "Two reasons, I guess. One is that she seems to prefer another."

Rosalinde was momentarily stunned. How could a woman prefer another to a man of his position? Still, it seemed an opportunity...

"Then you must tell me who she is, My Lord, and I will offer my services as emissary. I will speak to her on your behalf and I guarantee her affections will be transferred."

"Ah," said Arthur, "well, the other reason is that my father would never give me permission to marry her anyway. She's a servant."

"A servant?"

"Yes, she's a servant. Maybe in a different time or place she and I could have been together but not here and not now."

"And what about you, Sir Ganymede, what think you of love?"

"Well, my Lord," she said, with a smile, "I also have my eye on one who loves another. But they cannot be together and so I think that I will pursue the match anyway. Because no law or custom stands in our way and I have decided that we will be wed."

And they rode together behind the hunting party for a while; him frustrated and morose, her hiding a victorious smile. This time next year, she swore, she would be Queen of Camelot. She just knew it.

**

* * *

**

Four

Gwen sat in her small, dim house, her best shawl pulled across her shoulders. It had been a gift from Morgana, as had many of her clothes. Ever since her father passed, Morgana had been very generous. Gwen was grateful but also wished she didn't need such generosity.

She looked down at the note in her hand and her heart beat a little faster in excitement. It was from Lancelot. She had received it two weeks ago and had responded immediately.

He was nearing the Kingdom of Camelot, would pass nearby its borders. He wished to see her but was unsure of his welcome. He'd written that he knew of her feelings for Arthur but hoped to spend some time with her anyway. As a friend. She had responded in kind and now she waited.

As a friend. She pondered those words. She wondered to what extent they were true. Her feelings for Arthur were strange and mixed. She'd always been attracted to him but hadn't really liked him. Then Merlin had come and she'd seen a different side of him; a side that could be a great man.

In Gwen's eyes, Lancelot was already a great man. And if she could not be with Arthur, why should she not find happiness with someone else?

There's a knock at the door and she races to answer it. It's Lancelot; standing tall with his dusky complexion and sultry eyes. She feels a wave of deep attraction to him, remembering his lips on hers. Arthur may have her heart but Lancelot had something that Arthur could not touch.

He bows to her, always the courtly gentleman. She shakes her head slightly to clear her thoughts and invites him in, sitting him near the fire, pouring him an ale. It's still early; mid-morning only, and the streets are near empty of people. In summer it would be suicide for him to come during the day. In winter, he walks empty streets in broad daylight. All are tucked up at home by their fires.

They talk of little; his life since he last saw her, her experiences since he last rescued her. It's very polite and slightly awkward. She asks if he is seeing Merlin this trip. He says that he will not have the opportunity. He wanted only to see her; to make sure that she is alright.

"And you and Arthur?" he finally has the courage to ask.

"Me and Arthur," states Gwen, matter-of-factly. "He is the future King and I am a serving girl. Uther would never approve. You know what he's like. And I refuse to be..."

She paused and looked at him frankly.

"It is not who he is, anyway."

She reaches across the table and grabs his hands suddenly in hers.

"Stay," she asks, just once. "Please. I care about you, you know I do. I said I had never felt the way you make me feel and I meant it. If Arthur and I cannot be together, then why should I be alone?"

"I cannot," he replies, his eyes expressive and moist.

"Arthur is a great man. I cannot do that, not to him, not in front of him. And I, I have no place here, no role. I cannot be a Knight of Camelot and I cannot live here being something else."

"I'm sorry, my Guinevere. But one day, you and Arthur will be together as you are meant to be and you will be glad for my decision here today. Trust me."

And he had stayed for several more hours, eating, drinking and talking. And then, he stood and left.

Gwen sat in her small, dim house, her best shawl thrown off her shoulders. Alone.

**

* * *

**

Five

Cecily woke and rolled over and hugged her pillow in excitement. It had been ten days, ten glorious days since she had met the man of her dreams and today was the day. Today was the day he was going to notice her.

She leapt out of bed and raced down the stairs in her nightgown to the bakery. Her father had been up for many hours already preparing the bread for that morning. She could smell the wafting fragrance as it moved throughout their small house.

She ran into the bakehouse and grabbed her father around his waist, pressing her head against his chest.

"Father," she said excitedly, "good morning, Father. It's a wonderful morning, isn't it?"

Her father just smiled at her affectionately and continued his work with her feet on his feet.

"And what's got you all excited?" he asked, although he knew. For ten days all he and half of Camelot had heard was the young man's name. Last night at dinner, he had suggested that if she really had her heart set on him, she should probably try talking to him. He was a very busy and important young man, for a commoner. A good catch if she could get him. But one that seemed to have very little time for wooing.

He'd quietly thought that it would aid her chances if he actually knew who she was but did not say it out loud. She would be crushed at the thought he didn't remember her. To her, their encounter had been life-changing. From what her father had observed of him, he suspected that to him it had seemed routine.

His daughter was barely fifteen and, although old enough to wed, had not yet developed much sense.

"I've decided to find him and talk to him. I'm sure he'll remember me and I'm sure he fancies me. No one would do what he did if they didn't fancy a woman, would they father?"

"A Knight would," he replied, secretly suspecting that their influence had rubbed off on the young man. He spent a lot of time in their company.

"But he is not a Knight. For a Knight, saving a damsel's life is routine. It's barely even brave if you think about it. I mean, they have all the training and swords and armour. But him! When he stood in front of that runaway horse and pulled on its reigns so it wouldn't trample me.... oh...that was true heroism. I'm going to go and talk to him right now."

"Cecily, darling."

"Yes, father?"

"Don't you think you should get dressed first?"

She looked down, blushed deeply, and then ran back upstairs to put on some clothes. It took her twice as long with her hands shaking. With each item of clothing successfully fitted, she sat on the bed and dreamed of her love.

Finally dressed, she clattered back downstairs and threw herself out of the front door, slamming it behind her with a thundering bang.

She raced through Camelot's streets looking for him everywhere. It was Thursday. Didn't he and Gaius collect pots on Thursday? Oh, where was he? She looked all day with no success.

She asked after him of everyone she met. But no one had seen him that day.

And in the early evening, she walked into her home dejectedly, lay down on her bed and wept for her beautiful, dark-haired love.

Tomorrow, she thought, there's always tomorrow. And then she smiled to herself and she slept.

**

* * *

**

Six

He was too old for this. That's what he thought when he woke up in his luxurious bed, the warm body beside him. Too old for the transience of it all, too old for the deceit, too old for the passion. But this, waking up in the morning next to somebody you loved. This was what he was ready for.

He rolled over and snuggled up to his lined back, the flesh no longer firm under his hands. How many times over the long years had he lain his cheek against this back in the morning? How many times had he kissed the neck that now had folds of skin like a plucked chicken, stroked the hair that was now white and thin?

So many times. And all behind closed and secret doors. It was not that anyone would judge. He had married and his wife had borne heirs. It was what you did. He had taken younger and stronger men to his bed over the years and their virility had uplifted him and given him life.

But in all those years he had loved only one; thinking of him constantly in their long periods of separation. Being surprised each time he'd seen him as to how he'd gotten so _old_. Looking in the mirror and seeing that age in himself.

It was this he had kept secret from the world. This one small piece of his heart; lying asleep and naked in his bed after a night of tenderness. They were so familiar with each other now that they made love as if it was an old conversation; barely listening to the words, just enjoying the cadence of each other's voices. Their hands ran along familiar paths, their lips knew their role.

There was a time when they had tumbled into bed to find that intimacy had replaced orgasm as satisfaction. That was the day he knew for sure that this was love. It was one thing to use a body; it was his right as a Lord. It was another to want it only above all others.

His Lady had died, his children were grown. His lands were run day-to-day by younger men and his only duty was to his King. All he had to do was ask Uther to release him from service. Then they could finish out their lives together, as they had always planned.

"You're awake," said a rumbling voice, "I can hear you thinking from here."

A hand moved back and stroked his naked thigh. He moved his own round to the other man's front and stroked his manhood softly. He sighed and let him give him this release.

"Well, that's something I've certainly missed waking up to," he said wryly. "Now, we got a bit distracted last night. I think there was something you wished to tell me."

He moved his hands back and raised himself on one elbow to talk.

"I've been thinking about the future now that Lady Helena is dead and my son is running my estates," he said.

"Yes?" prompted his lover.

"We always talked of how we could be together but I couldn't subject my wife to the humiliation of knowing I loved a man more than her. But now that she's gone... Gaius, come and live with me, come and work for me. We need a physician, you would have work and..."

"Stop," said Gaius gently, and he rolled over to face him. "Ergh," he exclaimed as his muscles protested. His arthritis was getting worse by the year.

"I'm sorry Matthius, but my place is here."

Matthius opened his mouth to protest but Gaius stopped him with a wave of a hand.

"It's more than just my duties as Court Physician; it's more than my loyalty to Uther. Believe me, that has been strained in the last few years. If these were my only considerations then I would come with you gladly. Living out my final time as physician on a small landholding with someone I care about as much as you... a few years ago, I would have jumped at the chance."

"And now?" he asked.

"And now, I have other responsibilities. I have someone to take care of, someone very special. He is like a son to me and he needs me."

"Then we can bring him with us," said Matthius, instantly, "I have seen what Camelot is becoming, Gaius. I see it in Uther's madness. I see it in the ever-increasing number of executions. I see it in the growing frustration of that ward of his. I see it in the confusion of his son. It is the time to be elsewhere."

"I don't disagree," conceded Gaius, "but Matthius, the boy's place is here and my place is with the boy."

"I'm not going to convince you otherwise, am I?"

"No, my love."

"Well then, all I can do is have of you what I can while I am here."

And they smiled at each other, two old men in the morning light.

**

* * *

**

Seven

She lays on the bed, his large, muscled frame beside her. He's kissing her passionately, his hands running slowly down her body to the edge of her dress. He slides his hand back up her thigh, taking the fine fabric with it.

He's never done this before. When she had discovered that, she couldn't quite believe it. Admittedly, she had been raised in a rougher court than Camelot's and had often been stunned at how few scandals there were. Nonetheless, he was the King's son; young and fit and virile. Where she had grown up, a man of his position would have been taken to a brothel as soon as he had reached puberty. She'd known Uther was unusual before she agreed to marry Sir Sparrowhawk. She had not realised how unusual until she was in his court.

She stops his hand before it can reach the stretch marks on her upper thigh. She is still slightly embarrassed by how bearing the child has changed her figure. Then she smiles into his perfect blue eyes and lets the hand go.

She has done her duty by her husband. He has an heir and now she is free to do as she wishes. She has been looking forward to this since she first came of age. If she has to spend her nights with an old knight, she can at least now have the compensation of a young one in the afternoons.

She'd set her sights on Arthur almost immediately. He was by far the most attractive young man in the Kingdom and had never taken a mistress. It was high time, she thought, for him to do so. It was high time for her to be that mistress. As a Knight, Sparrowhawk would probably even be proud of her conquest. As the future King, Arthur had the right to bed any woman in the Kingdom, as did his father. She still found it difficult to fathom that neither of them took advantage of this right.

She'd begun her campaign several weeks ago. A time of drinking and raucous festivities seemed a perfect opportunity to wage her war. She hadn't felt that she was having much success until this afternoon. She'd seen him return from his hunt early and in a foul mood.

The rest of the Court was feasting in the Great Hall. When she had suggested he join them, he had simply growled. She'd looked at him and recognised frustration. Well, frustration was something she knew how to deal with. She had been frustrated almost every day of her passionless marriage to a man twice her age. It was time for her frustration to end.

He stops. Why has he stopped?

"My Lady Elaina," he says, hesitantly, "I'm sorry but I can't do this."

He moves off her and she's left wondering what changed in such a short period of time. She stays on the bed and she looks up at him as he starts to put his clothes back on.

"What's the matter?" she asks him gently, feigning concern. Virgins, she thinks, so annoying. You'd think he'd be grateful. Most men of his age would be.

"I'm sorry," he says again as he pulls the shirt over his head, "I was very tempted but this just isn't me. One day, I'm going to be married and I want us both to be doing this for the first time."

She looks at him incredulously. She's never heard such a thing from a young man. Women were forced to stay chaste until they wed. Why would anyone choose to unless they had no choice? Unless...

She cocks her head and looks at him seriously. She can't believe she didn't see it before. He's in love with someone he's not supposed to be in love with. Somebody chaste, obviously, and he's waiting for them. Inwardly, she groans in frustration and then swings her leg over the edge of the bed and tidies herself.

"Whoever she is, I hope that she is worth the wait," she says to him as she prepares to leave. He looks shocked that she has deduced his secret but then smiles sadly at her.

"Oh, and Arthur," she finishes, "when you realise waiting is overrated or the burst of young love is no longer enough, you know where I am."

And she gives him a sultry glance and leaves him to his honour. She hopes it won't be long before he realises that honour does not keep you warm at night. She hopes.

**

* * *

**

Eight

"What a beautiful young man."

With that single comment from the aging dowager, Morgana decided that she had had enough. It was early afternoon and she was dining once again with all their guests; the level of midwinter feasting beginning to become tedious. She had drunk too much wine to help her through the occasion, but all it had done was make her edgy and restless.

Merlin was moving round the table filling everyone's goblets with the sweet wine the three French princes had brought as a gift. She had spent the morning watching him be mauled by some kitchen girl and then Guinevere had told her in detail about some baker's daughter who was determined to wed him.

Now it appeared even 60-year-old widows whose arthritis made it nearly impossible for them to hold a fork were lusting after him and Morgana had reached her limit.

It was that time of year when winter crossed into spring, when the light and dark peered at each other across the void of the dark night, and fortunes reversed. The usual rules of behaviour relaxed and everyone went a bit mad. Why should she be forced to stay sane?

"If you'll please excuse me," she said, and stood up at the table. This forced all the men to follow her example so half the table was suddenly upright.

"My apologies. No, please don't get up. I'm afraid I've been struck by a sudden headache," she laughed slightly, "probably just too much of this good wine. If you'll allow me the impropriety, I need to return to my chambers."

As the men sat down and she made toward the door, she stopped near where Merlin was standing with his jug.

"Merlin, would you mind attending to me?" she asked. "Maybe you can suggest something to help me get rid of this endless throbbing."

"Of course, milady," he responded, politely, "I will fetch you a poultice and will be there as soon as possible."

"Thank you, Merlin."

In her room, she checked her appearance in the mirror as she waited for him. Her stomach fluttered nervously at what she was planning to do. She breathed deeply to calm her nerves and then started slightly at the steady knock on the door. She gave her mirror a determined smile and then admitted him.

As soon as he walked into the room, she grabbed him and heaved him against the door. It closed with a slamming thud as he landed against it; her hands already grabbing at this shirt, removing his neckerchief, pulling his jerkin off, trying to be on every inch of him at one time.

He stood there, stunned and silent, letting her hands do their work. She pushed herself flush against him and smashed her hungry mouth against his. She was not sure if he was responding, did not even care. All she could think of was the long months of wanting this, needing this; glorying in the freedom of wanting and taking and damning the consequences.

Her hands continued working even as her mouth moved to his jaw, his ears, his collarbones, biting and exploring. He was naked now and she grabbed him by his arms and threw him down on the bed. She climbed quickly upon him, holding him down with her weight.

"Morgana," he tried to say but she straddled his hips, moving across them slowly and rhythmically and his eyes closed and his head fell back as he grabbed the top of her thighs and groaned.

He sat up suddenly, his weight shifting below her and he kissed her deeply, drawing her hips into the right position. He slowly, frustratingly slowly, undid the buttons of her dress and slipped the fabric off her shoulders, exposing her naked breast. The material stayed puddled around her hips as his lips moved downwards, his hands stroking and teasing and then he was inside her, his teeth biting softly into her neck.

She cried out his name and he whispered sweet, incomprehensible things as they moved together and she forgot everything except him. She felt the joy of this one moment of pure freedom; flying away from her imprisonment with every touch, every thrust, every cry she drew from him. Nothing else mattered for now. Nothing else existed except him. There were no masters and servants, no great natural order to be preserved. There was only him.

As the afternoon faded into night and then night dawned into day there was only him. Again and again... and again.


	9. Nine Ladies Dancing

On the ninth day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

If there was one thing Uther wanted, it was order and peace. Order and peace were all he asked for. Everything in its place, everything operating as it should. Peace and prosperity required a well-defined way of going about things; a natural regularity.

Before his reign, chaos had ruled: the chaos that magic brought about by overturning order. Magic meant peasants could overthrow Kings, commoners could control nobility. Power could be given to anybody; taken by anybody.

Peace required control. Control required strength. Strength required power. That power was his, as was his right and his responsibility. He would not have the peace of his Kingdom shattered.

This was why, as he strode through his hallways on the way to his dining room to breakfast, the laughter and cheer of his happy people surrounding him, he decided once and for all. He would never admit it to anyone; would never say it out loud.

Uther _hated_ Midwinter.

Men dressing as women; servants feasting with nobility; wives cheating on their husbands; husbands cheating on their wives. Just yesterday he had seen Sir Dernhelm take a serving girl back to his room; unashamedly and in broad daylight. Not to mention the Lady Elaina's increasingly-embarrassing attempts to seduce any young man of rank.

He knew of some Kingdoms where peasants elected a new peasant King for a day, who could Lord it over the Kingdom. No such nonsense in his Kingdom.

Three ladies ran past him, gossiping and giggling, and he scowled. He could have sworn they were singing too.

He had to let them have their fun. As much as he hated it, he knew the uproar should he try to ban it. Besides, it was a time that attracted royal visitors from other Kingdoms. If he did not need their revelry, he did need their alliances. If only...

...wait, could he hear more women singing?

He stopped, his ears straining. He could. There were more women singing. If everything else wasn't enough, now he had to contend with some silly young women _singing_ in his hallw...

...was that another woman singing?

As he stood there, being something someone other than a King would call gobsmacked, three women danced past him. He could have sworn one was singing about her stitchwork.

He continued down the hallway, more attentive now, as he realised he could hear women's voices singing from several rooms and hallways.

What on Earth was...

He diverted to the Great Hall, storming in to see what the racket was, and finding some women dancing in formation in the centre of the room, singing some sort of round. He stood stunned for a moment, the words slowly penetrating his consciousness, until he realised they were singing about what they wanted for breakfast.

"Eggs and meat and hot sweet tea, for breakfast that will do for me."

Not the best rhyme in the world, he thought. And then he thought, what the hell is...

"My Lord," the Princess Chastity trilled in a trained but not entirely musical soprano. She ran up to him and did a few twirls on her way, landing in front of him with a graceful pirouette. Her blonde curls bounced as she did so and he was struck for the first time at how attractive the boring woman would be if it weren't for her personality.

"My Lord, it's a terrible thing. My Lord, all the woman... we can only dance and sing."

"What?!" he thundered, obviously terrifying the cowed Princess, "what on Earth are you talking... singing... about?"

"It's true, my Lord," sang a soft but melodious voice. It was the Lady Morgana's maid, Guinevere.

"We woke this morning with this curse, we've tried everything but it just gets worse."

Then she did a cat leap and twirled to the ground in an elegant bow. Quite impressive, really.

"There's something more and I think you'll agree, it's definitely worse for you and me."

Uther just shook his head. He couldn't cope. He thought the young woman was trying to give him an update on the status of his kingdom but she kept singing. Should he be taking her seriously? What did you do when a roomful of women appeared to have gone insane?

"We don't just sing about our day, we keep giving our secrets away."

She wasn't exactly a poet either, it seemed. But he suddenly realised what she was trying to say.

"Our thoughts are there for all to see, I think you see the tragedy."

Oh yes, he did see the tragedy. He winced as he envisioned women accidentally revealing their affairs, indiscretions, lusts, crimes and... treasons? Maybe this could be useful. He mentally shook his head. No, this was magic and evil and had to be stopped.

"And this is only affecting women, you say?"

"Yes, your highness," chanted Chastity, "and now they know I want Sir Aquinas!"

"Who's Sir Aquinas?" asked Uther, confused.

Gwen just shrugged.

"No idea but I think you'll agree, there are 12 year olds with more maturity," she intoned. And then she looked shocked at her own brazenness. Chastity ran off crying.

Against his best efforts, Uther felt his mouth twitch. He was glad to see he wasn't alone in his estimation of the Princess. Guinevere just went up several points in his estimation as well. Not that he would ever tell her; she was just a servant after all.

"Summon my Court and order them to the Throne Room," he ordered Guinevere. She seemed to be the only one there with any sense, "this is obviously witchcraft and it must be dealt with immediately."

"Yes Sire," she sang, "but I am concerned. Is this just here or throughout the land?"

He simply nodded; it was obviously a good question. Then he watched as she performed a series of intricate dance steps out of the room. The dancing breakfast singers had grabbed their food but it hadn't stopped them from bopping around the room.

"Midwinter!" he cursed, "next year, I'm going to cancel the whole damn festival."

* * *

The men were all gathered in the Throne Room. No women were allowed. Uther actually thought he kind of liked that arrangement anyway. Maybe he could make it permanent.

"It is confirmed, Sire," said Arthur, finishing his report, "the spell, if that is what is, has only affected women within Camelot. Women in the outlying villages are all normal. There are several women who were awake last night who swear they started singing just after moonset."

"And what have you discovered?" Uther asked Leon.

"Apart from the fact that the butcher's wife thinks the butcher is an inadequate lover, the seamstress* on Market Street has been doing a little more than sewing and is, by the way, giving discounts at the moment,, and a young girl by the name of Jane stole a bun this morning... not much, Sire. Oh, a woman named Estelle has a fantasy that involves two Knights and a turkey baster but I left before I could get the details."

Uther tried to ignore the fact that Sir Goshawk and Sir Caradoc had looked decidedly more interested in that last piece of information.

"Very well. Leon, I want you to take your Knights and join the City Guard. As women reveal more of themselves there may be chaos. Arthur, I want you to find this witch and make her reverse this spell. Use whatever resources you need."

He looked around the room for a moment.

"Where's that idiot manservant of yours today?"

* * *

"Gaius!" Arthur strode into Gaius' chambers in full armour, his chainmail gleaming and his sword swinging around his hips.

"Yes Sire," said Gaius. He was sitting perched on his bench over a boiling potion of some kind, "are you well?"

"No Gaius, I am not well. All the women in the Kingdom are singing and dancing. Haven't you noticed?"

"Ah, well, I've been a little tied up the last couple of days and... now that you mention it there did seem slightly more frivolity this morning. I just thought people were getting into the spirit of the season. I've been tempted to burst into song myself lately."

As a statement, that one certainly made Arthur pause.

"Anyway," he continued, shaking his head of an irrelevancy, "I need my idiot manservant and he's nowhere to be found. Where is he?"

"Tending on Sir Cesario, perhaps?" suggested Gaius, "We've both been so busy lately, I haven't seen him since the unfortunate pregnancy incident."

"Gaius, that was only two days ago."

"Really? It seems longer than that."

"I know. With all the craziness lately it's almost like someone has condensed our lives into some sort of story for their own amusement."

"Very true, Sire. Life, as they say, is a stage."

"A stage of what?"

"Right. Anyway, I suggest you try Sir Cesario's."

"Great Gaius, thanks."

He left Gaius' chambers and walked back toward the French Knights' chambers, ducking quickly every now and then to avoid the synchronous sweepers and unified moppers in the hall. The odd thing was, the dancing movements seemed to make the floor cleaner.

* * *

Uther sat in the throne room. Outside, he could hear one of the chambermaids delivering a rather impressive aria on comparative cleaning products. He sat and waited for Arthur to return and tell him everything had been resolved. He did this a lot, he realised. Sometimes he felt like this was the only room he was ever in. Maybe if he was lucky somebody would come to talk to him and he could yell at them. Being King could be fun, if it wasn't for all the bloody people.

* * *

Arthur knocked on Cesario's door, trying to ignore the fact that he was supposed to be trying to find a Witch but had spent all morning looking for Merlin instead. It was not that his servant always seemed to know what to do in these situations. No, it was because he made Arthur... look more intelligent... in comparison. Yes, that's why he wanted him. Definitely.

There was no reply from the room and Arthur was about to walk on when he heard a thump from inside.

"Cesario?" he yelled, "Merlin".

Nothing.

Maybe Cesario was hurt. Maybe _Merlin_ was hurt. Maybe Merlin had gone in this morning and some rabid woman singing about the knitting she had recently finished for her seven children had tried to do some wild dance move and kicked him.

Ok, that probably wasn't likely.

"Merlin!" he yelled, rattling the door handle. Then he took a step back and broke the door inwards.

He stormed in to find Cesario, Ganymede and Dernhelm sitting at the dining table looking upset.

"What are you doing?" he yelled, "didn't you hear me calling? I was worried about... you. Very worried about you."

With a brief look of anguish, Cesario, Ganymede and Dernhelm began to sing in surprisingly-feminine contraltos.

"We have a problem

It's plain to see

Women are singing

And so are we

What do we do?

Uther will know

He'll be so angry

We'll have to go."

"Gods," exclaimed Arthur, "you know what this means?"

The three disguised women nodded sadly.

"It means...men are affected by the spell too."

Instantly, the three women clamped their mouths shut, desperately trying to avoid some sort of sonnet of confession.

"I have to tell my father," said Arthur and ran from the room.

"Not the brightest intellect, I fear," sang Rosalinde.

"Merlin is definitely the brains of that pair," concluded Cesario.

* * *

Uther was back to hating Midwinter. Being King was fun when you shouted orders at people and waited in an empty room for them to be carried out. Being King was less fun when the wife of one of his landowners was currently singing of her desire for him; a ditty peppered with detailed descriptions of her husband's inadequacies.

It would be an embarrassing enough situation if her husband were not standing shamefacedly beside her. The sooner this farce ended the better.

"Father," he heard and Arthur burst the doors. "I have terrible news. This spell is beginning to affect men too."

"What!" he yelled. The last thing he wanted was to start spilling his secrets left, right and centre.

"Have you had any luck finding the witch?"

"No Sire."

Was it his imagination or did Arthur look embarrassed about something. And still no manservant.

"Well," he considered, "we should...WILL YOU SHUT UP, WOMAN, I AM NOT INTERESTED."

Lady... what was her name again?... temporarily stuttered to a halt but then helplessly began again. It was obviously something she'd always wanted to say. The spell was forcing her to finish.

"Arthur," he tried again, "I want you to..."

And the singing Lady stopped.

Outside, the chambermaid on her fifth delivery of her "Ode to Baking Soda" was also silent.

Arthur walked to the large wooden doors, throwing them open and peering out. The synchronised sweepers were sitting in a corner looking exhausted. The moppers were finishing the floor without ballet. He strained but could not hear a single bit of song.

"It's over," he said.

"Well done, Arthur," said Uther. He knew his son would come through. He always did.

"Ah, thank you Father?" said Arthur helplessly. What was he going to say? It looked like the witch had changed her mind or something?

"I'll go and check on the guards and take a stock of the damage."

Arthur walked out and Uther dismissed his court. He strolled back through blissfully silent and orderly corridors to his bedchambers. Everyone had scurried inside, probably to clean up the messes of their relationships following so much honestly. He laid down on his bed and considered that all in all, it was good to be King.

* * *

Meanwhile...

Merlin rolled over and looked at Morgana sleeping beside him. He smiled softly and thought that soon he would have to get up and undertake his duties. He had already spent more than an entire day in her bedchamber and it would not take long before people noticed.

He was a bit concerned, too. The night before, while they were... well... he'd been sure he saw her eyes glow. No fires had been lit and no vases had exploded so he was sure nothing had happened. Still, he thought, probably best to be safe than sorry.

He checked she was asleep, whispered a quick general counterspell, and then buried his face into her long dark hair and drifted off to sleep. He felt better for the spell but he was probably worrying unnecessary. It had probably been nothing.

* * *

**A/N Oh, how I love Stupid!Arthur, let me count the ways.**

**Thanks be to the genius of Joss Whedon for the 'Buffy Musical' on which this is shamelessly based.**

***At one point in time (admittedly a lot later than Arthurian legends are set), prostitutes in England used to register their occupation as 'seamstress'. That's why in Terry Pratchett novels the one and only seamstress in Ankh Morpork joins the 'Guild of Seamstresses' and can't understand people's surprise that she constantly carries a basket of clothes to be mended. She incidentally gets the most work.**


	10. Ten Lords a Leaping

**A/N I have to send a big thank you to brickroad16, goodythreeshoes, Isis the Sphinx, CrayonsPink, Catindahat and Laura Elizabeth who have reviewed practically every chapter. You guys are the Captain Awesome's of the fan fiction world. Thank you.**

**Researching the last chapter I discovered there are two versions of this song. I've rather scientifically gone with "the one my Mum taught me as a child".**

* * *

On the tenth day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

"Morning!" bellowed Merlin, joyfully.

He skipped into Arthur's bedroom, slammed his breakfast down on the table, and then pulled the curtains back letting in bright sunlight.

Arthur groaned and rolled over, snaking his head under his pillow. He'd spent most of the evening before celebrating his "victory" over the "witch". Now his head felt as if someone had taken to it with a mace. Merlin had picked a bad day to reappear and start acting like his manservant again.

"Merlin, what are you doing?"

"What do you mean? I'm waking you up and getting you breakfast like I do every morning."

"No, Merlin, you do not do it every morning," Arthur snapped. "You did not do it yesterday morning. You did not do it the morning before. Where have you been? I needed you for this stupid singing women crisis."

"What singing women?" asked Merlin and then looked slightly confused at Arthur's bemused expression.

"Anyway, I've drawn your bath and laid out your clothes. I'll be off now, shall I?"

"Merlin!" yelled Arthur, but Merlin had already skipped back out of the room.

He closed the door to Arthur's chambers and made off to Sir Cesario's, somewhat reluctantly. Almost against his will, his feet started carrying him to Morgana's chambers instead.

He pulled them back on track, explaining to them in detail why he needed to be seen to be doing his duties. He'd had a similarly assertive conversation with them the evening before when they didn't want to carry him back to Gaius' to sleep.

"Now feet," he said, crossly, "we have things to do. If I spend all my time in Morgana's chambers, people are going to notice. And I haven't been tending to Arthur or Olivia or Gaius. More importantly, I haven't done my weekly Arthurian threat assessment yet. For all I know, some evil sorcerer is plotting Camelot's downfall and I haven't even noticed. Onward."

His feet blatantly disobeyed him, determinedly taking the wrong flight of stairs, the wrong corridor. They even stopped in one of the recently-vacated guest quarters and stole the fresh flowers that had accidentally been laid out. If this didn't stop, he'd be at Morgana's before he knew it.

As he passed the main stairwell leading down into the common areas, he thought he heard voices. Sneaking, whispering, up-to-no-good voices. He looked at the flowers for a moment, tucked them away in one of the torch sconces and headed down the stairs to investigate.

He slid quietly down the stairs, using the banister to pull himself up so his feet didn't make any sound on the stone. As he slid down to the bottom of the banister, he slowly moved his head around the wall to see what was going on in the hallway.

To his astonishment, it was a group of about ten men. With loud whispers and much uncoordinated clumsiness, they were trying to smuggle a large crate of something through the castle's subterranean tunnels.

Merlin looked at them for a while and then did a quick probing to make sure they had no magic. He decided it was safe to confront them and stepped out into the hall.

"Ahem," he cleared his throat.

They stopped and stood still, holding the positions they'd been in when he spoke. He wondered if they were hoping that standing still would make them less noticeable. Considering one was bending down with one leg slightly elevated and his hands actually wrapped around the crate; that was unlikely.

"Ahem," he said again. "Do you want to tell me what you're doing?"

The men looked around at each other, until one finally came forward somewhat tentatively. He was dressed Merlin realised as a performer, probably one of the many Uther had hired for the celebrations on Twelfth Night.

"Master... ah..." and he paused.

"Merlin," offered Merlin.

"Master Merlin," he implored, "we are but poor lost circus performers. Your King, the great Uther, engaged us to perform on Twelfth Night and paid us in advance. However, on the road, we were attacked by bandits who stole all our money, clothes, and props. We are meant to dance on the Twelfth Night but have none of the things we need to do so."

"Ok," said Merlin, wondering what this had to do with... anything.

"Uther... does not entirely like our kind. If we appeal to him for help he will think it is a ploy to extort more funds from him. Our only hope is to... um... _acquire_... the things we need elsewhere."

"You mean steal?" asked Merlin bluntly.

"We mean steal," conceded one of the men. "This crate contains all that we need for our performance... except..."

"Except?"

"Dresses," said seven of them together.

"For the women's parts and the dance at the end where we all dress up," said the first man.

"Men in dresses with large fake breasts always gets a laugh," said the second. He cocked his head reflectively, "never really understood why. Women dressed as men seems mostly to get their heads cut off."

"How many dresses?" asked Merlin, reflectively.

"Well, ten. One for each of us."

Merlin nodded. Stealing dresses was something he was not unfamiliar with.

"Gentlemen, you have come to the right man for help," he said. And he grinned.

_Ten_ dresses. That was the problem. He'd managed to get away with stealing one of Morgana's but the admittedly-poor "moths" story was unlikely to justify the taking of ten. There may be women who had so many they would not miss one. They were unlikely not to miss such a large number.

He thought briefly of enlisting Morgana; she may even _give him_ ten dresses. Then Uther would want to know why she needed replacements and between the magic and the... other things she'd been doing that he wouldn't like... no, best not to draw attention to her. Besides, if he went to her chambers now, his quest would likely be very quickly forgotten.

Now there was a tempting thought... no Merlin, focus. Someone needs your help.

Arthur? Would report the thieves to his father in a heartbeat. His only option was Gwen... who might start asking awkward questions about another dress he'd stolen.

Ok... alone then. All he had to do was think of ten women who wouldn't miss one dress and hit them one by one. Then he'd ferry the dresses to a central location and get the men to pick them up later. That was a plan.

First stop, Alyna. She was rarely in her own quarters and he was still angry about her little ambush. Of course, a small voice noted, he hadn't minded so much when Morgana did it...

It took him nearly all day but he managed to steal the dresses from several ladies of the court. He'd hidden in a few closets, found out a few disturbing facts, and nearly been discovered by the Amazonian Lady Brunhild.

The wife of Sir Caradoc was widely rumoured to have been trained as a Knight in the land of her birth and regularly threatened to prove it to any man who annoyed her. She was the only one he could think of who was large enough to have a dress that would fit a couple of the larger male performers.

There were Knights who terrified him less and so he'd shivered with his hand clapped over his mouth as he hid under her bed. Then once she'd left, he'd grabbed two of her dresses and run.

"Thank you Merlin," said Walter, who seemed to be in charge of the performers. Merlin had handed over the dresses and the men were even now secreting them in their bags and getting ready to take them back to their quarters to prepare for the show.

"It's nice to know we won't be flogged for failing to perform."

Merlin just nodded; he'd seen it before. Uther could be generous but expected much in return. You failed to deliver at your peril.

"Master Merlin," said one of the performers. Merlin thought his name was Borin. As the others filed out of the room, he took Merlin aside and leaned down toward his ear somewhat conspiratorially.

"Master Merlin, as performers we sometimes hear things. Things we aren't supposed to hear."

Merlin nodded; he well knew what it was like when people thought you were irrelevant. Very little in the Kingdom escaped him because of it.

"It's the pipers," he said.

"The pipers?"

"I overheard three or four of them talking. I'm sorry, they all look alike so I don't know which ones they were. They were discussing their role in an attack."

"What?" said Merlin, concerned.

"They said something about Uther finally getting what he deserves on Twelfth Night. They are spies sent here as a fifth column; to be there in the room at the celebrations. They were talking about doing something to aid the attack following some sort of signal."

"We need to tell Uther," said Merlin.

"That is up to you," he said, "to tell you the truth, whether Uther lives or dies matters little to me. We have already been paid. We could have returned Uther's gold if we hadn't been attacked by bandits but we cannot and so we perform. We gave our word.

"Performers are more than likely going to be ignored during an assault. We weren't going to say anything but, Merlin, you've helped us, you've been very kind and you deserve to be warned. You are a servant of the royal household and these men won't be so kind to you. Get out of Camelot before Twelfth Night, please."

And then he left Merlin to his troubled thoughts. He'd let himself get too distracted, he realised. He needed to focus and find out who was behind the plot. That meant getting to know the ten or so pipers hired to perform on Twelfth Night and discovering which were part of the planned attack. He sighed. So much work to do. And would he get any thanks? Unlikely.

"Destiny, Merlin," he whispered. This time his feet headed toward Gaius' without argument. They knew what he had to do.

* * *

Meanwhile...

Arthur had finally bathed and dressed and, with his head still pounding, began walking purposefully around the Castle as though he had a mission to perform. His mission was to find Gwen. He had been very busy the day before but had been convinced he had seen her duck out of his way while he was trying to find Merlin.

She probably didn't want to start singing about her feelings or, fist in his gut, how she preferred Lancelot. He also felt a bit guilty about the whole Lady Elaina fiasco.

To his dismay, she seemed to have spent all morning tending to Morgana who was unwell and had apparently spent the whole previous day in bed.

Nonetheless, he wandered the Castle hoping to run into her accidentally-on-purpose, just to talk to her, just to see her.

He was very distracted with his thoughts but nonetheless began to notice something unusual. Every time he saw Merlin he was slinking down hallways or ducking down deserted corridors with a different dress in his hand. Arthur counted five different dresses in all, one of which was an awful yellow colour that really wouldn't go with his complexion.

As he strode the halls, he shook his head and made his decision. It had all gone too far, he thought.

He was really going to have to talk to Merlin about the cross dressing.


	11. Eleven Piper's Piping

On the eleventh day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

Merlin woke up on his small pallet and stared at the pre-dawn sky. In winter, such skies could last all day. Without the fun and frivolity of the season, it could be enough to drive a man mad.

He sighed and rolled onto his back, pulling the pillow out from behind his head and holding it tightly in his arms. He'd had a restless night.

He'd woken up yesterday determined to get his chores done quickly and then fall back into Morgana's arms. Instead, he'd spent the afternoon talking to Gaius about the plot against the Kingdom and trying to gather as much information as possible about the Pipers. He'd failed to learn much; they had all arrived together a few days ago and seemed to have performed together for many years. If there were traitors amongst them, they were well hidden.

He'd visited their quarters and spoken to a few of them; an eager serving boy keen for the Twelfth Night festivities to begin. One of them had rehearsed his solo for him; a hauntingly beautiful song of lost love. He'd tried to stop it but had felt a tear flow down his cheek. It had reminded him of Freya's tragic death.

He'd learnt how gifted the pipers were; the affect their music could have. But not much else. If only he could confide in Morgana, he thought. Then she could help. Besides, what use was their friendship, their relationship, if she didn't know who he was? He had wanted to tell her about his magic before. He was so used to being guided by Gaius that he had obeyed him without question.

Fear had also stopped him. He could be such a coward. As he lay there, the pillow clutched tightly to his chest, he had an epiphany. Their relationship meant nothing without honestly. Was not a relationship at all; just two bodies getting comfort from each other. She was his friend, she was his lover, she was somebody he could trust not to tell his secret – as she trusted him not to tell hers.

Why should he continue to do these things alone when he had an ally close; someone who would understand and accept him as he was?

He hoped.

He shot out of bed suddenly, the decision galvanising him. It was early, probably too early. But he had to do it now before his fear stopped him. He dressed quickly then snuck out of the chambers without waking Gaius.

He strode swiftly through cold and deserted hallways, shivering in his thin clothes. Before he even knew it, he was at her door.

He raised his hand to knock, but then had a panic of indecision. His hand came back to this side and then he girded himself and knocked decisively. No reply.

Of course, it was so early she was probably still asleep. He spoke the words, feeling the small surge of power, and her door unlocked. He opened it quietly and walked in. She was still asleep, her pitch-black hair sprawled across the white pillowcases. His breathed hitched. She was so beautiful like this.

He walked over and settled himself beside her.

"Morgana," he whispered, "Morgana, wake up."

He shook her slightly, and she stirred and opened her eyes. She didn't seem surprised to see him there. She rolled over slightly, her hand moving to his chest.

"I dreamed you were here," she said softly, "it was a good dream except... except I also dreamt about music."

"Music?" he asked, curious despite himself. Pipers.

She nodded sleepily. "The music played and we were trapped; trapped in the music. It changed us. It changed everyone."

"Changed us how?"

"I don't know. We were still us, but different. You tried to stop them somehow but their spell was too strong."

"Who were they?"

"I don't know. I'm sorry." She smiled a devastating smile and her hand began to wander. "I thought you were coming last night. I missed you. Come to bed."

She kissed him, her mouth softly pulling his lower lip into hers, her warm body arching against his, and he felt his determination falter. He thought of the look on her face when he told her, of her feelings changing; her anger, her hatred, her rejection.

He nearly crawled in with her and kept the lie alive but realised this was the point of no return. If he didn't reveal himself now, he would have to keep the secret forever. She'd never forgive him otherwise.

"Morgana, wait," he said gently. He rolled off the bed, ignoring the look of hurt confusion on her face. She probably thought he was rejecting her; was about to tell her their day together had been a mistake. He paused. He was just a servant and she had so much power over him. Either course of action was so dangerous.

He took a deep breath.

"There's something I came here to tell you; something you need to know. I never thought, never realised... you and I have always had a connection but I guess I didn't know how strong that connection was. What happened the other day... I had barely dared dream..."

He stopped and grimaced slightly, thinking he was involved in the verbal equivalent of tripping over his own feet and throwing Arthur's breakfast everywhere.

"This is not what I came to say.

"I... the first thing is: your dream. I don't think it's just a dream. I heard a rumour that there was going to be an attack on Camelot and some of the pipers were involved. Your dream just re-enforces that. I've been trying to find out what I can but I, I need help. I want you to be that help but..."

He waved his hand. She had been going to interrupt but he was on a roll and wanted to finish.

"The truth is that I have been lying to you and I need to stop lying. After what happened the other day... I... Morgana," he sped up now, determined to get through the next few words as quickly as possible, "Morgana, I have magic, I am a sorcerer... a warlock."

She started to smile, thinking he must be joking. Her sweet bumbling Merlin a warlock? It was preposterous. Then she saw his face and knew he was serious. She threw off the covers and stood up, her mind working furiously through the implications, her body quivering with increasing anger.

"Are you telling me that you, you sat here in this very room and let me tell you about my confusion and fear about magic and you were magic the whole time?"

She realised suddenly what he had been hoping she wouldn't. "You must have known," she fumed, "known a long time ago about my magic, my dreams. I came to you for help and you refused. What did you say to me? 'I wish there was something I could say'. How about, 'I know about your magic, Morgana _because I'm magic too'._

"I'm sorry," was all he could manage, "I just, I just don't tell _anybody_. Arthur doesn't know, Gwen doesn't know. Nobody knows except Gaius and he told me it was too dangerous and..."

"Too dangerous? Do you have any idea how lonely, how _terrifying_ it is to have this secret? To watch executions and imprisonments and wait constantly for the footfall outside your room that says that now Uther is finally coming for you..."

"...And oh, you've been so kind and considerate. And here I am thinking how amazing it is that you seem so understanding about everything. How could you?!... this was the reason I felt... the reason I wanted..."

"...I don't know if I will ever forgive you for this, Merlin. Ever."

She turned her back to him and stormed over to the wardrobe. He stared at her helplessly, took one step toward her, and then stopped. Maybe he should leave, he thought. Maybe he should argue some more.

To his astonishment, she began stripping off her nightgown and changing into her dark green dress; the serviceable one she wore when she had a lot of work to do during the day.

"What are you doing?" he asked, nervously.

"I may be furious with you, Merlin, but if what you say about my dream and the pipers is true then Camelot is in danger."

She looked at him fiercely, as though it was an accusation.

"You need my help."

And then she stormed past him and all he could do was follow in her wake.

"Where are we going?" he asked her, nervously.

"To tell Arthur," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Wait, tell Arthur what?" he asked, more nervously.

"That we both have magic and he should send for the executioner," she said in that sweet way she had when she was being really sarcastic.

"You said you heard a rumour about the pipers. We're telling him that. We need his help. We can look at the magic side of things and he can handle looking at it from a security point of view; where they've been, who they've talked to; whether they've associated with any people who are suspected of being magic users."

"Oh," he said. He'd never considered that. It made sense.

She stopped short suddenly.

"How powerful are you?"

"Wha... what?"

"It's a simple question, Merlin. I have obscure true dreams and start the odd fire. What can you do?"

He thought through his answer for a moment, realising that honesty was better than modesty at this point.

"I was born like this. I've been moving objects with my magic since before I could even talk, since before I could walk. And one day, with training and experience, I could be the most powerful warlock in all of Albion."

"Gods," she said, then paused and looked at him shrewdly. "One day, we're going to have a long discussion about everything you'd done since you've been here, starting with my dream about Sophia. Lucky for you, we don't have the time right now."

She powered on to Arthur's room; some sort of walking, talking force of nature driven by her anger and determination. She was never so terrifying. She was never so beautiful. It was like when she was fighting, armour-clad and ferocious with her broadsword. Amazing.

She raised her hand to knock on Arthur's door, then caught Merlin's look and scowled. Not ready to forgive him yet, obviously, but he was sure he saw her face soften. At this rate, he thought, she may forgive him by midwinter five year's hence. Maybe. If he was lucky. Perhaps.

* * *

Merlin, Morgana and Arthur met in the centre of the courtyard, the three of them tired and footsore. Arthur had reported the threat to his father as an anonymous tip. Then he and the two sorcerers had separated and spent the whole day trying to find out something about the pipers with no luck.

"We can't keep trying to keep this investigation secret," declared Arthur, "we have to get the guards to arrest them all to keep them from playing tomorrow night. Then we can interrogate them to find out who's guilty and who they're working for."

"Arthur, most of those performers are innocent," said Merlin appalled.

"What are you going to do," added Morgana, "torture a group of blameless men in the hopes of catching the guilty few. That's barbaric; something your father would do."

Arthur had been looking helplessly at both of them, but the mention of his father got his back up.

"Do you have an alternative," he snipped, "because if you do, I would love to hear it. I'm sorry, but my duty is to Camelot and I have to do what I need to do to protect it."

"Just give us a few more hours," begged Merlin, "someone has to know something."

Arthur looked uncertain and then to Morgana's surprise conceded. "Fine, a few hours, but if this backfires, Merlin, I swear..."

"Thank you, Arthur. It's getting late but Morgana and I will..."

Out of nowhere, a young girl, maybe about 15, suddenly ran up and threw her arms around Merlin, pressing her lips lightly to his.

"Hello Merlin," she breathed adoringly. And then she blushed and ran away.

"Who... was that?" asked Arthur.

"I have no idea," responded Merlin, dumbfounded.

Morgana wondered if, under the circumstances, murder was really a crime.

And the world stopped.

That's what Merlin thought, later. It was just as though the world went so wild that his body couldn't cope with what he was feeling and shut down.

He couldn't move, couldn't think. All he could hear and see and think and feel was music.

Later he would have vague memories of a single piper in the courtyard with them. Leon would report one on the other side of the castle near where he was preparing to dine with Cesario; Sir Agravain and Sir Gareth swore there was one who walked into the throne room while they were briefing Uther on the security threat; and Lady Brunhild tried to tackle the one who walked into her weekly sewing circle before he started to play.

When a time came to count, Merlin realised that all eleven pipers were in on the scheme, all guilty.

But for now, all he could do was struggle against the song. And fail.

**

* * *

**

A/N Even though this isn't 'The Problem with Merlin and Morgana', I still have to credit Laura Elizabeth who wanted to know what would happen if Merlin told Morgana his secret.


	12. Here Come the Drums

**Prologue to Twelve Drummers Drumming**

Merlin shook his head, his sense returning slowly as he looked around the courtyard. Morgana and Arthur were there as well; their unfocused eyes beginning once more to take in the world around them.

The sun was lower but he wasn't hungry or thirsty so they can't have been standing there that long; maybe an hour or so. He shook his head to clear it and looked around the darkening square. The piper was gone.

He felt normal; still had all his limbs, was not suddenly a woman or an animal. It was not suddenly 100 years later that he could tell. These were all things he had dreaded the pipers' tunes could do.

Still, the music had been magic. He had felt it; struggled as it wove around him and bound him to the spot. He had vague memories of trying counterspells but his mind wouldn't finish them, his lips wouldn't speak them. He had never felt so helpless.

"Are you alright?" he managed. Arthur just looked at him, dazed. Morgana's hand snuggled into his own and gripped it tightly, her thumb caressing his softly. That felt good, he thought.

"I don't understand," she asked, bewildered, "what was the point? You said they were supposed to act to aid an attack but I don't feel any different. No real time has passed. No army has been spirited into Camelot. What did that achieve other than make us angry and afraid?"

"I don't know," said Merlin vaguely, "it seems pointless." Her hand moved up his arm now, sliding up past his elbow to the sensitive skin at the top of his arm. He slipped the arm around her, needing to have her close, his hand caressing the back of her dress in soft spirals. Her hand left his arm and slid round his waist and up the back of his shirt.

"Um, Merlin... Morgana, what are you doing?"

It was Arthur, looking taken aback at their sudden public display of affection.

"Um, I don't know," said Merlin and he stood back, looking at Morgana, worried, "I just, I wanted..." He looked at her seriously, "you are mad at me, very mad at me. This is not..."

He shook his head. "Sorry, we really need to focus. This spell must have done something so we need to find out what."

"Arthur, I need you to..."

"Find the Lady Elaina," finished Arthur, looking suddenly absorbed in his own thoughts.

"What? Who?"

"You know, I am tired of always doing the right thing, always worrying about setting an example and being the responsible one. And I am tired of waiting endlessly for a love that is never going to be. I mean, why shouldn't I just forget everything I'm _supposed_ to do and start doing the things I _want_ to do?"

Merlin, concerned, walked over to him and put his hand to his chin; craning it up so he could look into his eyes. He barely noticed that Morgana followed him, slipping her hands around his waist and up the front of his shirt. She bit one ear lobe softly and then began trailing kisses down his neck to his collarbone.

"Just a minute, love," he said to her absently.

"Why the Lady Elaina," he asked Arthur, "you don't even like her. What about Gwen?"

"Gwen, Gwen probably wants Lancelot anyway and my father would never give me permission to...

...Oh my God, no, Merlin, you're right! My father would _hate it_ if I married Gwen. I mean, if I married a servant he'd lose all those opportunities for cementing some alliance somewhere. He'd be furious."

And he slapped Merlin jovially on the shoulder, the impact nearly knocking the slimmer man off his feet.

"Thank you, Merlin. I'm going to do it right now. I'm going to marry Gwen."

"What? Now? The pipers? The attack?"

"Someone else can take care of it for a change. Oh, and you two... for God's sake, get a room."

* * *

Uther was sitting on his throne looking confused. He'd been getting a report on the Twelfth Night investigation and... there had been music, he thought and... magic, he realised with a sudden clarity. The fog in his head cleared and he knew it had been magic.

Again, some sorcerer had struck deep into his Kingdom, into the Throne Room itself, and this time they would pay. He would rid his Kingdom of sorcerers if it was the last thing he did. He strolled quickly to the armoury and grabbed his broadsword; heading purposefully toward the Lower Town. God, he'd missed this.

Deep down he'd known that he was still the fighter he'd been in his youth; had thought wistfully of the days when he himself rode into battle. Well now, he would. This battle was his. And he smiled as he stormed through the halls. Sorcerers beware.

* * *

Olivia had just settled down to a meal with Leon when the music began. Leon had seen the piper in the hallway and had come to tell her their dinner would be delayed. He had to find out what the musician was up to and report it to the King. It was his duty.

When the music finished, she had had a strange sensation. Olivia was a romantic, always had been. She loved Leon for his quiet intelligence, his gentle, cultured nature, his poetic soul. She fully intended that she would soon return to Camelot as his intended bride. But there was a small spark inside her; one she had barely realised was there.

She looked at Leon sitting on the other side of the dining table and suddenly knew that she could not wait for that time; could not wait anymore. She barely registered the look of shock on his face as she leapt. It's probably a good thing that Leon had, at that exact moment, been thinking the same thing.

It's probably the reason why no one saw either of them again for several days.

* * *

Lady Brunhild had been raised in an icy Bavarian kingdom. Her height and strength had been noticed at a young age and so her father had given her the unusual job of being his Squire. Her brothers were much older, Knights before she reached maturity, and he liked being assisted by somebody he loved.

When she was old enough, she had trained as Knight and participated successfully in several tourneys. It was there she had met the older, scarred Sir Caradoc and fallen madly, improbably in love with him.

Her love for him was why she endured this damp island he'd brought her to. Her love for him was why she wore the stupid dresses and participated in mind-numbing activities such as her weekly social circle.

But as the music died away and her thoughts returned, that small bit of her soul that was a fighter leapt up and ready for the fray. She tore off her dress and clothed only in her shift went out to find a battle worthy of her talents. She was a Knight again.

* * *

Gwen stood up, letting her shawl fall down around her ankles and made her decision. When the strange music had subsided, the walls of her home, her prison, had contracted around her and she had needed so desperately to be free.

Lancelot had only left a few days ago; he had to still be near Camelot. If she followed him now and found him, she could leave her comfortable cage behind and live a life of freedom.

As she packed her bags wildly, her front door banged open and Arthur stumbled in.

"Gwen, my love," he gasped, and he dropped to one knee, "it is time for us to be together."

"You're too late, Arthur," she said, angrily. "I've decided to leave Camelot and run away with Lancelot."

"Lancelot," said Arthur, the pain in his voice cutting through her, "he can't give you the life I'm offering, the love I have for you. Marry me, Gwen, right now."

"I can't, Arthur. If I marry you, I'm even more trapped here."

"Then we'll leave," he said, suddenly, "we'll fly far away and be together and only come back when my father is dead."

She stopped what she was doing.

"Are you serious?"

"Definitely."

"Then I accept!" she said, excitedly.

He stood up, pulled her into his arms and placed one kiss upon her lips. She smiled and he moved to deepen the embrace.

"I don't quite think our relationship is at that stage yet, Arthur," she said matter-of-factly, "now let's find a priest to marry us."

And they held hands and skipped off together into town.

* * *

There were certain things Merlin knew to be true. The first was that Morgana had been furious at him and was unlikely to have forgiven him so quickly. The second was that someone had cast a spell to distract them all while they planned an attack that was designed to kill Uther and topple Camelot in the process. The third was that he just couldn't stop what he was doing.

They'd tried to make it to Gaius' to see if they could find a way to lift the spell; their need to do so only illustrated when the Lady Brunhild screamed insults as she ran past them wielding a broadsword and clad only in chainmail and boots.

But they just couldn't stop themselves.

They'd made it to the first floor and were now pressed up against a wall kissing passionately, interrupted only when the Princess Chastity walked up, slapped them both for being mean to her and then told them to get a room.

"Honestly, this kind of behaviour in the hallway. It's just not right," she'd declared and then started crying. "I want to go home."

"Morgana," he managed, "we have to focus. This is a spell and we have to..."

He managed to push himself off the wall and back away. For his trouble, he found himself pressed against the adjacent wall trying to marshal his thoughts even as they spiralled out of his control.

"I don't care about the spell," said Morgana, "isn't this easier than the fighting? Let's just enjoy it while we can."

"Ok... no, no, you don't give up. I don't give up. The spell is giving us a reason not to fight. Morgana, since when do you run away from a fight? The spell is not our friend. We have to ignore the spell."

"You're right," she said, and backed away. "You're right. We need to fight. We need to... split up to fight because if we stay close to each other this is not going to work."

"Ok, I'll... go and see Gaius and try and find a counter spell and I want you to check on Camelot's defences. See if anyone is still sane enough to fight off an attack."

"Right," she said, standing there and staring at him. They both swallowed, took a deep breath and determinedly set off in opposite directions. Then turned back and began kissing again. This was going to be more difficult than they thought.

* * *

Gaius sat down in his favourite chair and gloried in the spare time. This was wonderful, he thought. He'd always wanted more time to do some serious research and he finally had it. Of course, he'd had to put a sign on his door that said he had left Camelot and was never coming back. But his patients could wait. He had more important work to do. And he finally had the time to do it.

* * *

If there was one thing Camelot's Knights had always secretly wanted to do, it was to prove who was the best. They trained and sparred but Arthur had said he did not want serious injuries from their training and so they'd always wondered: if push came to shove and they had to fight each other to the death, who would win?

They headed down to the training field and decided to find out once and for all. The last Knight left alive would win. Caradoc, being older and wiser, had considered for a moment that that would leave Camelot essentially defenceless. But that was less important than being the best. Much less important. He put on his armour and prepared to face his foe. To the death.

* * *

He was a priest of the new religion, a follower of Christ. He was a rarity in a land where Rome's doctrine was only just spreading. He had journeyed to Camelot a few years ago to spread his teachings of a single God.

One thing that had always frustrated him, no matter where he was, was that he had to marry people at the King's bidding. The Pope had declared that the social order of the world was set by God and it was his duty to obey the King as well as God. But there was a small deep part of his soul that had secretly rebelled. Surely if God gave two people love then he meant for them to be together?

And so, with a triumphant grin he married the two people who stepped into his tiny chapel that day. "Take that," he whispered softly and hoped the Pope did not hear. God he would have to deal with at a later date.

He was a little surprised though when the groom went to embrace his new wife passionately and she said, "I don't quite think our relationship is at that stage yet, Arthur."

* * *

Uther strolled through the hallways, waving his sword with glee. This was what he'd been missing. No magic would be left in Camelot once he'd finished.

He moved down another corridor and came upon the astonishing sight of his Ward locked in a passionate embrace with Arthur's servant, Merlin. He stormed up to them, wrenching them apart.

"Are you sorcerers?" he yelled, menacingly.

"Ah, no," said Merlin, thanking the heavens this was not a truth spell.

"Good," said Uther, "keep it that way. And for God's sake, get a room." Then he kept on his trajectory to the lower town.

* * *

Rohan had spent almost two weeks in Camelot pretending to be the skilled Sir Dernhelm and she suddenly decided she'd had enough. She was better than all of them, well almost all of them, and it was about time they knew who their real opponent was.

She was a princess and the future ruler of her people and deserved more respect. They all had such contempt for women as warriors but she knew better. She had longed for the day when they would see that a woman was better than them. Well, now that time had come.

She looked out of her window to see a glorious Amazon of a woman training in the Courtyard. That was more like it. She would reveal herself as female and join her. See how inadequate the Knights of Camelot would feel then.

* * *

Chastity hated Camelot. She hated the people, she hated the food, she hated the coarse society and all the jokes about men and women that she simply didn't get. Since she'd arrived, she'd been impregnated, been forced to sing and dance, and had been insulted by common servants.

She usually tried to remain calm and virtuous at all times but a small bubble of hatred lurking deep inside her had finally burst and they were all going to pay. She was going to... slap them; slap every one of them who had been mean to her or had looked down at her. And she didn't care.

* * *

Deep below the castle of Camelot, in the bowels of a cavern long forgotten by everyone but a small few, a Dragon sat and felt the madness coursing above him. And he laughed. And then he laughed some more.

* * *

Arthur and Gwen, newlywed and preparing to flee Camelot, had been making their way to Arthur's room to pack some things but had been distracted by two half-naked women sword-fighting in the courtyard.

"Isn't that Sir Dernhelm?" said Arthur.

"Oh, yes," said Gwen, "she and her sisters are women. Didn't you know?"

"Sisters? Women? What?"

Uther stormed up suddenly, just in time to prevent Arthur's confused outburst. It was perfect timing, thought Arthur, let's see what he thinks about me_ marrying _a_ servant_.

"Arthur," said Uther, swinging his broadsword in an alarming way.

"Father," a determined Arthur began, "I've fallen in love with Guinevere and we've gotten married."

"Married?" He peered at the girl. Wasn't she the one who disliked the awful Chastity?

"Are you a sorcerer?" he demanded.

"No, My Lord," said Gwen, quickly.

"Good." He turned back to this son, "She has good taste and isn't an evil magician bent on Camelot's destruction. I approve. I was beginning to have my doubts about Morgana anyway. You two are far too much like brother and sister and anyway, she'd probably spend most of the time in bed with your manservant."

"Fleeing Camelot, are you? Probably wise. Don't worry, Arthur, I'll take care of these sorcerers and then it will be safe to return. Now, I must go."

Arthur slumped. "Well, there's not much point leaving now. He didn't even care."

He looked at her lovingly and wrapped his hand around hers.

"You know, we're married now. We could go back to my rooms and spend some time together."

"I don't quite think our relationship is at that stage yet, Arthur."

"Are you sure?"

"Oh yes, but we can find somewhere to hold hands and stare at each other adoringly."

"Ok."

"You know, if they ever made our lives into a play, I have an awful feeling my character would be kind of insipid and this relationship would be amazingly boring."

"I know," agreed Arthur, "but it would be ok. The writers would probably be smart enough to concentrate on more complex characters, like Morgana. They'd probably devote a lot of time to Merlin and Morgana's complicated rapport to balance us out."

"Probably," she smiled, "they'd be pretty stupid not to, after all." And they went off to adore each other elsewhere. Their journey was only briefly interrupted when Chastity ran up and slapped Gwen.

* * *

Merlin sprinted awkwardly to Gaius' chambers, his lanky frame threatening at any moment to topple him. He and Morgana had finally managed to go their separate ways and he'd made it home without turning back. He then had a small moment of panic when he saw the sign on the door. He burst in to find his mentor deeply engrossed in making notes from a pre-purge book on magic.

"Merlin," he said angrily, "didn't you see the sign. I'm not here."

"Gaius, I need your help."

"You always need my help. Everyone needs my help. Even Uther needs my help. I'm tired of it. Never get any of my own work done. Go ask the Dragon."

"I don't trust the Dragon, Gaius. Gaius, please, there's a spell at work and I need to find a way to break it."

"What kind of spell?" asked Gaius, finally looking interested.

"Some sort of instinct spell; something that makes you do all the things you've wanted to do but didn't let yourself... or... or that society tells you you're not supposed to."

"Really?" said Gaius, "because I was just reading about a counter spell for such a thing."

"You're kidding me."

"Convenient, isn't it?"

* * *

Morgana stood on the battlements overseeing Camelot. An sharp intake of breathe was all that showed her fear. She longed to run back down and throw herself into Merlin's arms and this time she was sure it was not entirely the spell.

Dawn had broken and Morgana had picked her way past sentries kissing, or fighting, or crying, to overlook Camelot's defences. What she had seen had woken her from her madness like a dash of icy water.

As she stood there, pondering the sight before her, Merlin ran up to her side.

"I have a counter spell," he said breathlessly, "if you and I cast it together it should be enough; we should be able to break the hold on everyone in... oh Gods."

He'd finally looked at the scene below them and the army, 10,000 strong, marching towards Camelot's gates. Everyone had been up all night. No one was rested. Even with the spell broken, how could Camelot withstand such an onslaught?

The pipers had truly done their job well. It was difficult to believe that there was any hope.

Morgana looked at him, then slid her hand in his and squeezed.

And on the distant wind, they could hear the sound of drums.


	13. Twelve Drummer's Drumming

**A/N I was never happy with this chapter. I had a few hours this morning so I rewrote it. It's very similar; I just wanted to devote some more time to some of my original characters and I felt that the chapter was generally rushed. I wanted to flesh some things out.**

**In terms of the series, it's not so much that this story is set after the Lady of the Lake. It's more of an A/U where the 'Sins of the Father', the 'Witch's Quickening', and the 'Fires of Idirsholas' never happened and the Last of the Dragonlords is yet to come but would be completely different. Essentially, I'm just cherry picking the bits of the show I want LOL. Oh, and Leon dead? I was tempted but I wrote something in the last chapter that means it would be poor continuity. So he lives. Yay!**

* * *

On the twelfth day following a festival to celebrate the midwinter solstice - that in the future will be called Christmas - my true love gave to me…

* * *

In a castle trapped in the depths of midwinter, an ensorcelled population stopped and blinked and recovered from their madness. The social order that contained and restrained them slammed back down and they looked around and realised what they had done.

And in the distance, getting louder by the minute, they could hear the demoralising sound of drums.

Merlin and Morgana stood on the battlements, hands desperately clasped together, looking at the invading army.

"How did they gather so quickly?" asked Morgana, doing everything she could to hide her terror. Her hand clenched Merlin's more tightly.

"It's magic," he gritted through his teeth, hopelessly.

"What kind of magic could do this?"

"Strong magic: cast by someone maybe even stronger than me."

"That scares you?" she asked stunned.

Her mind, still coming to terms with him even having magic, now tried to expand to include the idea that Merlin was so powerful that he would find it strange that someone else could do things he couldn't.

"We have to do the counter spell and I think we should combine our magic and do it together."

"I... I've never done anything like that before."

"It's ok," he smiled at her reassuringly, "just calm your mind and feel my power. Respond in kind."

I'm teaching Morgana how to use magic, he thought. The dragon is going to be furious.

"It's such a potent spell; that's why they needed so many people to cast it. The eleven pipers to deliver it through song and probably a twelfth person who cast the original spell. I may be able to break it alone but I'd feel better if I drew on your power as well."

"It's that potent that they needed twelve people to cast it and you think that you... Merlin, _how powerful are you_?"

He didn't answer, just looked at her once then down at their joined hands. He closed his eyes and she felt something nudge her mind. She could see it, could feel it. It was like an immense ocean of magic lapping at the shore of her mind. As soon as she opened herself, tides surged through and dragged her in, her magic dropping like a bucket into the vast depths of an ancient sea.

She was dragged in and sucked under; the water swirling around her, drowning her. From underneath the waves, she could hear Merlin's voice in her head chanting in a language she did not understand, the cadence rising until he was yelling the words across the battlements.

"Ongalnes sange

dréamum bismerléoþ galdorcwide

geswin gieddes

scéawendwíse

ábíeteen bebrice

geanhwyrf eyre

Alynest. Alynest."

She felt a surge of tidal forces and was suddenly back on the beach of her own mind, trampled and exhausted from the whirl.

Gods, she thought, such _power_.

She sat down, her feet simply giving way beneath her and Merlin sat beside her; their hands still interlocked. She rested her head on his shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment. She suddenly desperately wanted her Merlin back; the simple, kind and gentle man, not this extraordinary warlock with a sea of magic within him.

As she sat there and felt his gentle hands stroke her face, she realised that he hadn't gone anywhere. She opened her grey-green eyes and saw his brilliant blue ones staring back at her.

"This army could destroy Camelot," she said. "It makes my anger seems unimportant somehow. If we're going to die, I need you to know that I care about you. A great deal."

"I care about you too," he whispered back, and he leaned down and kissed her softly on the lips.

And they stood up and walked towards the throne room as the warning bells began to toll.

* * *

"... this kingdom is about to be attacked and I want to know by whom."

Uther's furious voice raged out of the throne room as Merlin and Morgana walked in.

"I don't know, father," said Arthur's voice. It sounded even but Merlin could hear the frustration in it. He knew Arthur was blaming himself for getting distracted by the spell.

"All I know is that when we awoke from this... sorcery... there was an army bearing down on us. We have had no reports about an invasion. We have had no rumours of an alliance between Cantia and Magance against us and yet both their banners fly before this force. It's midwinter, for God's sake. No one would launch an attack like this against a fortified city in midwinter. It's madness."

"It may be madness but they are here. They have attacked when we least expected it and they used sorcery to distract us. Do we know anything about this spell or the enchanter who cast it?"

"No father, nor do we know why the spell has been broken. It would have made sense to keep us... busy... while they invaded."

At the word 'busy', Uther looked at Arthur then Gwen then Merlin then Morgana and seemed to suddenly remember something.

"Busy is right," he directed at Morgana and then gave her a look that clearly said he would get to her in a moment. He then turned back to Arthur, "in fact, I seem to remember you telling me you were in love with my Ward's servant and had married her."

Arthur squirmed with embarrassment and then opened his mouth to...

"It won't be legal," said Merlin.

Arthur shut his mouth.

"No permission from the King, no witnesses. I mean, I'm assuming the marriage wasn't... consummated so..."

Arthur and Gwen shook their heads... violently.

Uther looked at Geoffrey of Monmouth who simply nodded.

"The boy is right, Sire. The marriage is not legal."

"It was obviously some kind of spell to make us do things we wouldn't usually do," Merlin continued. And Morgana was amazed and very impressed when he managed to give her a brief look as though he was embarrassed by what Uther had seen them doing, "crazy things to distract us while they moved their troops into position."

"Right," agreed Arthur, hoping that Gwen would not be too upset by him denying their relationship, "it made us do things we would never usually think of doing."

"Yes, obviously, and I think it best that we decide not to mention these _things_ to anybody," and he glared at the gathered throng, "ever again," he finished with a growl.

"One more thing, father," said Arthur, "I know this will make you angry but it needs to be said. I think we have an ally with magic."

Uther, who had turned to walk back to his throne, swung around and stared at Arthur in shock.

"You what?" he snarled.

"I'm sorry father, I know that all magic is evil. I also know that this is not the first time magic must have been wielded to help us. It makes no sense for this spell to have been broken before this army was at our gates. Even then, they could have swept us away without a fight if they had left it in place. I think that whoever helped me in the Forest of Balor has been helping me ever since. I think they helped us today."

"Do you know what you're saying, boy?"

"I'm not a boy, father, and yes, I do know what I'm saying. I don't know who this person is but there is no other explanation for us regaining our sanity. We are fortified and provisioned for winter. Having us in full control of our faculties when they are not ready to attack does not serve their purpose."

Uther looked like he was going to argue but gathered himself together. "We'll talk about this later. For now, we have a force ten thousand strong to repel. How do we do it?"

"Our Knights are tired and some are badly injured. Apparently they decided to have a fight to the death. No one is dead, thankfully, but Sir Sparrowhawk's injuries are severe."

"I'm sure the Lady Elaina will be inconsolable," said Uther, sarcastically.

"I'm sure. And Leon is nowhere to be found. He didn't join the rest of the Knights in their crazy duel.

"I will muster all the Knights I can. We must check the fortifications and arrange a parley to see who is behind this attack and what they want. We have very little time but I will try to arrange a stocktake of food to see how long we can withstand a siege."

Uther simply nodded, and Arthur was about to leave the room when Sir Agravain, Sir Gawain and Sir Gareth entered the room. Gareth had his arm in a sling; having obviously been injured in the fight to the death.

"Sire," said Gawain, "we left Camelot's gates to gain some information on the approaching army. Alvarr and his men are with the army but they are not in control. Sire, it is led by a woman."

"By a what?" asked Uther, almost amused.

"A blonde woman, Sire, dressed as a Knight. Some of her men referred to her as Morgause."

"She is an enchantress, Sire," said Gareth, "she said a spell and one of her men's injuries healed. It is no doubt she who put the enchantment upon us."

"Cantia and Magance have long disagreed with our policy on magic," mused Uther thoughtfully, "and our treaties with them failed long ago because of it. Alvarr's so-called rebellion against us is also about the ban on magic. If a powerful witch approached them and said a victory over us could be assured..."

"Well, I think it's time I met this Morgause," stated Arthur definitely, "and find out what she wants."

"Be careful, Arthur," cautioned Uther, "and remember, despite your belief that we have some sort of magical help, Morgause is a sorcerer and cannot be trusted."

Arthur nodded and then, glancing at Merlin to follow him, headed off to his chambers to prepare.

* * *

Merlin was subdued as he dressed Arthur in chainmail and armour; his hands so used to their task that his mind was able to run free.

"So, you and Morgana," said Arthur, with amusement in his voice.

"What?" exclaimed Merlin, shocked out of his thoughts. "No. That was the spell."

"I know what we told my father, Merlin, but I also know what I saw and I know what I felt. The spell wasn't making us do things we didn't want to do; it was making us do things we wanted to do but weren't allowed to do.

Merlin just smiled, with grudging respect.

"Great. You had to choose today to not be a self-absorbed prat."

Arthur just laughed.

"How long has it been going on?"

"Not long," replied Merlin, "I mean, we've been getting closer but it's only in the last few days that..."

"So, when you disappeared for a day and I couldn't find you..."

"Yeah."

And Arthur laughed again when Merlin blushed.

"You're such a girl, Merlin."

"I'm a girl. I'm not the one that married his one true love and spent the whole time sitting in a corner holding hands."

"How on Earth... Merlin, how do you know that?"

"I know everything, Sire."

"It appears so. Apparently you and Morgana are lovers and the three French Knights are actually women. And this piper threat. It was you that told me about it. I had no clue. How did I miss all this? I mean, I'm supposed to know what goes on in this Kingdom and I apparently know nothing."

"Arthur," said Merlin seriously. He finished his armour and moved around to face him. "You have a Kingdom to defend, Knights to train, external threats to keep track of. There are many things that you are never going to see."

"But I should," stressed Arthur.

"No. But that's ok, because I do."

"Seriously, Merlin."

"I am serious. You know," and Merlin laughed, slightly embarrassed and then grinned sheepishly, "someone once told me that you and I were two sides of the same coin."

Arthur rolled his eyes at that and Merlin scowled jokingly.

"It's true. You may find it hard to admit but we need each other. Camelot would fall without your protection. And you need someone who... looks at the world in a different way."

"Well, now I know the situation is grim," noted Arthur, "you only ever talk like this when one of us is near death."

"No, I only talk like this when things are grim but I know that everything is going to turn out alright in the end."

Merlin turned around and grabbed the chainmail he sometimes wore when they went into dangerous situations.

"What are you doing, you idiot?" protested Arthur. "You're not coming with me. There are ten thousand troops out there."

Merlin picked up a sword and belted it to his side.

"And where would you be without me, you royal prat? Of course I'm coming with you. I promise you, Arthur. Whatever I have to do to help you and Camelot today, I will do it."

"As if you could do anything to help, you useless fool."

Arthur looked at him, seriously and smiled briefly. He paused.

"I'm glad you're here, Merlin."

He pulled his chainmail up over his hair and looked back at his loyal servant.

"Of course, if you tell anyone I said that, I'll deny it."

Merlin just smiled and they both left the room together.

* * *

"Lady Morgana."

Morgana looked to her door, causing Gwen to pause as she was helping her on with her armour.

It was Rosalind, Rohan and the Lady Brunhild, the latter two still dressed for battle, although they had taken the time to finish their outfits.

"Are you riding out with Camelot's Knights?"

"Yes I am," she replied, proudly, "they won't like it but I don't care. This is my home too and I will defend it."

"Can we join you?" asked Rosalind.

"Uther has decreed that since we're actually women we have to stay in the castle with the other women and he'll 'decide what to do with us after the crisis is over'." Rohan's lips tightened as she finished, her expression showing exactly what she thought of that decree.

"If this army breaks through we are as dead as any of you," finished Brunhild, bluntly, "We want to fight."

Morgana simply nodded and turned back to Gwen who finished dressing her.

Rosalind looked at the maid appraisingly.

"You're the one Arthur married during the spell?"

"Um, yes," said Gwen, blushing slightly and lowering her head. She was unfortunately unaware of just how contemptuously the French women viewed such subservience.

"Hmm," was all she said but inside she was thinking that the maid was not very impressive and that maybe Arthur wasn't the man she had thought he was. She shot a look at Rohan, who nodded resignedly. Between the way they treated women here and Arthur's strange affection for such a dull girl, it was decided. They would look for a husband for Rosalind elsewhere.

Rohan cocked her head slightly and gave her sister an ironic smirk that clearly added _assuming we survive._

* * *

Camelot's citizens were confused and frightened. One minute they were caught in some magic spell and the next they faced an invasion of magnitude. They ran around trying to clean up the messes of their night of madness and prepare for a potential siege that could last months.

But all of them to a man felt that everything was going to be alright when they saw the Prince, followed as always by his loyal manservant and flanked by the Lady Morgana in the attire of a Knight, ride off to defend the Kingdom. They didn't even flinch when they saw the Lady Morgana's maid to her left and three women with the Knights of Camelot behind them. Though some of them wondered why two of those women looked remarkably like the French Knights that had been visiting.

* * *

Arthur and Merlin rode up to Morgause under a flag of truce. She was quite beautiful, Arthur thought: with her armour and chainmail she looked a lot like Morgana, despite the long blonde hair.

"And what do you want, son of Uther," Morgause greeted him. She had looked briefly taken aback that he seemed sane but had soon rallied.

"You have brought an army to the gates of Camelot. For what purpose?"

"To overthrow your father and restore magic to the Kingdom. I offer this one opportunity to surrender. For when I attack, I attack with force and I will not show mercy."

Arthur just nodded.

"And these are your only demands? There is no way to avoid this conflict without some bloodshed."

"None," said Morgause, "Uther dies and his reign ends or all of Camelot falls in flame. Those are your choices. What do you say?"

Arthur smiled tightly.

"I say we will fight and we will be victorious."

"So be it."

The battle began almost as soon as they made it back inside the gates. Morguase threw a barrage of magical fire at the walls and Arthur soon realised they would not hold as long as they had hoped.

"So much for our long siege theory," he stated, philosophically. His mood always picked up once the fight began. He almost seemed to enjoy it.

"Knights of Camelot," he began, throwing his voice across the gathered troops and standing on a box so he would be heard.

"Today we face a threat greater than we have faced before. You know what that means? It means nothing! Of all that we have faced in the past, this is just another trial for us to endure, another bump on the road that we will roll over on our way to triumph.

"We have faced sorcerers and armies and curses that left our crops rotting in the fields. Today we face another trial but when it is over we will be victorious.

"It will be difficult: some of you will not survive. But I know that each and every one of you will fight today as you have never fought before. For your homes. For your families. For each other. And for Camelot. For Camelot!"

"For Camelot," yelled the assembled force.

* * *

They stood on the battlements, arrows and spears flying. Men with grappling hooks tried to scale the outer walls but were thrown back each and every time. As long as the walls held, the attacking force was at a disadvantage despite its numbers. But with Morgause's attacks continuing at a steady pace, the integrity of the walls was threatened.

"Damnit," swore Arthur, "we have to take out the witch. If she keeps this up, we'll be exposed in a day or two."

"Everyone's too tired, Arthur," said Merlin, "they've been up all night and many are injured. They're running on the thrill of battle but that will burn out. They will simply have to rest soon."

"I know, Merlin."

"What will happen if she breaks through?"

"Will you stop asking stupid questions." yelled Arthur, "If the wall falls we will be overrun. We do not command enough troops and those we do have are impaired. If the wall is breached then all is lost."

Another fire bolt hit the fortification and a hail of stone shrapnel shot through the men on the other side of the wall. The flying pieces of sharp stone laid open arms and caused concussions.

Gwen was busy trying to tend to injured men on the front line and had her work cut out as those needing triage grew.

"We need to evacuate some of those injured down to the town," she said to Arthur, "can I borrow..."

"Gareth, help Gwen get some of those most seriously injured to the lower town. And while you're there, get Gaius to look at that arm of yours."

"Yes Sire."

As the two picked up a man between them, another volley of magic blasts hit the wall and tore through the supports of a gargoyle that fell from the roof heading straight for...

It missed Gwen. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief then frowned. He could have sworn the gargoyle veered slightly on its path to miss her. He looked around, wondering if the magical help he suspected helped him was near. All he saw was Merlin.

"For God's sake, Merlin, stop looking so terrified."

"I'm not terrified," he protested, as he always did, "I'm just... thinking."

"Well, stop it. You're making me nervous."

Merlin looked over to where Morgana was commanding a small cadre of Knights, including Lady Brunhild, Rosalind and Rohan. Sir Peregrine and Sir Percival, both so young and innocent, were helping them. Morgana was as magnificent as always and he took a moment to admire her. He knew it may be the last opportunity he had to do; regardless of what he decided to do. As Morgause's assault on the walls increased, his options did not.

He could not let Camelot fall.

Beside him, he heard the whistle of an arrow near his head and Goshawk crumpled down behind the wall. Another bolt took down Agloval and then Owain got the full brunt of one of Morgause's magical balls of fire. He was lifeless before his body even hit the ground. Percival and Rosalind were seriously injured by shrapnel. Lady Brunhild cried out, her beloved husband falling down beside her with a burning arrow in his skull. Agloval and Goshawk may survive; Percival and Rosalind were maimed but not fatally injured. Sir Caradoc was already dead.

Brunhild looked at him for a moment and then her eyes swept the battle around her. They met Merlin's and he saw a deep chasm open up within her. She screamed with an almighty roar and launched herself over the side of the castle, supported by a line that she used to lower herself to the ground. As he watched, she hacked and tore and screamed her way through the troops at the bottom of the wall until they overpowered her and she collapsed; a broadsword through her stomach.

Merlin found the tears begin; it's the middle of battle and it is ridiculous but he can't help it because this is all so senseless. So pointless. It's supposed to be midwinter, a time when the world turns upside down so people can release their cares and start the coming year anew.

But this; this is wrong. This is slaughter. This isn't feasting and partying and love and presents and snowmen on a bright winter's day. This...

This must end.

Now.

He steeled his jaw, the tears drying on his stark white cheeks. Before him, a grappling hook appeared and an enemy knight slashed at Arthur, cutting his thigh. The cut was not deep but the blood flowed free and Arthur fell on the ground behind him. There was a brown stain on his golden cheeks and red-brown rust through his blonde hair.

"This has to stop," said Merlin.

"What are you on about, Merlin?" griped an impatient Arthur, "will you get over here and tend this wound? Honestly, _what are you doing?_"

"I'm sorry," said Merlin and Arthur paused at the look on his face.

"It's not your fault, Merlin."

"No. But this will be. Please understand. I didn't tell you to protect myself but also to protect you. I didn't want you to have to make the choice you're going to have to make."

"I don't... Merlin, what are you talking about?"

"Order your Knights off the battlements."

"Wha...?"

"Please, Arthur, for once in your life, just listen to me and do as I say. I need your troops to be clear."

He paused as though to argue but then nodded.

"Retreat," he yelled, and Morgana started over, an angry and confused expression on her face.

_Don't,_ said a voice in her head, _this is my doing. This is my decision._

_Merlin, what are you going to do? Merlin?_

_Please, Morgana, don't be stubborn. Just do as I ask._

She paused and then nodded slowly and called for her own troops to clear the area.

Merlin turned back to Arthur.

"I meant everything I ever said to you, you know? If anything happens, if you have to... if you're forced to... if I won't be here anymore... take care of Gwen for me. Take care of Morgana. She needs to know that she is cared for. Otherwise, she will find someone else to play the role."

Arthur just nodded, not understanding but realising that something momentous was about to happen.

And as he lay there on the ground, blood from his wound pooling round his hips, Merlin stood up to the edge of the parapet and raised his arms toward the sky.

"Scúres tídrén regnest

Ád ádfýr bryne

Edwylm

Beaducwealm bealucwealm drepe."

He repeated the words again, each chant in succession getting louder and louder until he was screaming them off the edge of their safe little world and onto the troops below.

"Beaducwealm bealucwealm drepe."

Arthur levered himself up off the stone and crawled to the edge; arriving just in time to see the clouds that rushed in across the sky, roiling with lightning and hail. The heavens opened before his eyes, striking the enemy forces with the worst of nature's elements. As the storm dried up, a bright orange flame burst up on the front lines, incinerating the men marching toward Camelot. One, two, three, four, five times the flames burst up and then the hail and lightning struck again.

And when the fiery maelstrom dissipated, a quarter of the enemy's ranks were dead or injured on the ground.

"Merlin," was all Arthur managed, but all Merlin did was stare in the distance as though talking to a person Arthur could not see.

_Morgause, _Merlin yelled, his voice pounding in her head_, Morgause, I warn you. You will leave Camelot now._

_Who are you, boy? How dare you use this magic against me? _

_I dare because I can, because the power is mine. I will not stop. I will not bend, I will not compromise. And I will strike you down without a second's hesitation for what you do here today. Because this is my home and these are my friends and I will save them from your hate or I will die trying. Remember this. Camelot is protected._

_You think you can honestly stand against me? Don't you know who I am?_

A bolt of blue flame burst from her form on the field, powering toward where Merlin stood gaunt on the parapet. He did not even speak, just gestured with his hand and the bolt flew back, unseating Morgause from her horse.

_I will not warn you again, Morgause._

_I may have no choice boy, but I will not forget this. I do magic's work and you stand in its way. You protect Uther and so you protect magic's enemy. I may have to withdraw today but I will not forget and I will have my revenge. And next time, you will not see my hand until it is too late._

And as Arthur, a million conflicting emotions racing through his brain, sat on the ramparts, his head already dropping in disbelief onto his hands, Morgause disappeared from the field in a burst of dark light, taking Alvarr with her.

And without her, the enemy troops fell apart.

Twelve beats from a drum sounded in the lower town. He looked at the sinking sun and he realised, suddenly.

It was Twelfth night.


	14. Epiphany

The Great Hall was silent. The giant room with its ornate hangings and bulky hard wood furniture, usually so full of light, was dim. A shaded hall on a midwinter afternoon. Arthur walked in and looked at the tall and silent man standing staring at the red Pendragon banner. His colouring was made for bright daylight or intimate candlelit rooms, not this cavernous gloom. The raven hair looked ominously dark, the white skin pallid. He turned to face him; his eyes black.

He said nothing, just cocked his head and looked at him. He smiled; that deep smile that reached into your heart and made you glad that he was there. That smile that made you feel that, even when the world was falling down around you, everything would somehow be alright.

He had a decision to make and he had come to make it. His father was waiting in the Throne Room for his report and he would ask if Arthur knew whose magic it was that had rained fire down upon their enemy. And if he answered, Uther would sentence that person to death, regardless of the fact that he had saved their lives.

From what he had seen, that sentence would mean little to Merlin. With the kind of power he held in that slight frame, he could easily escape. If he turned him in, Merlin would not die. He would have to leave.

He'd meant to confront him, meant to accuse him, meant to hear him justify the long list of lies told to him over the past two years. Outline the things that he should have seen so many months before; accuse him of a betrayal he felt was worse than any he'd felt before.

The Lord of Misrule had turned his world upside down and he did not know who anyone was anymore.

But in that smile he saw everything he needed to know.

Merlin had saved his life.

Merlin had saved Camelot.

Merlin was his friend.

Merlin was a sorcerer. And he didn't care.


	15. Author's Notes

**Author's Notes to the Twelve Days of Christmas in Camelot**

A Partridge in a Pear Tree

The Twelve Days of Christmas is very much a song about food. On the top level of meaning, the first seven stanzas simply describe menu items that people would have eaten (mostly poultry and other edible birds). However, behind this layer and permeating the whole song are issues of fertility: sex, marriage and procreation. The link between food and sex is obvious (both are about life and both are sensual pleasures) and midwinter was obviously a time when these issues were at the forefront of people's minds.

In Chapter 1, I've simply gone for a twist on the literal meaning. The twelve days of Christmas were a time of feasting and the partridge is a game bird that would have been a popular main course at one of the feasts. Similarly, the pear was a common fruit which would have been available for the feasts. In this piece, the colours Merlin wears are the colour of the partridge. It is a forager and is often found on the ground. Merlin is prone at the end with fruit in his mouth: a common image associated with roasted meat to be eaten.

And if you want to dig deeper and find the sexual subtext in that imagery... well, that's your business.

Two Turtle Doves

This is one of the few stanzas with a bird that would not have ended up on the dinner table. Doves are a common symbol for love, fertility and peace. In the Middle Ages, they were often kept in cages as pets and are believed to mate for life. Giving two turtle doves in a cage is a symbol of eternal love.

Given the hopeless love theme in Merlin, it's probably obvious why I chose Gwen and Arthur for this chapter and I originally intended them to be the two turtle doves. What can I say? I know my readers (brickroad16 and Laura Elizabeth spring to mind), so I wrote an M/M part as well. Technically that makes this 2x2 turtle doves but what the hell.

Three French Hens

In the song, Three French hens are, rather boringly and literally, three chickens of a breed that originated in France. People ate them. That's it. So I decided to interpret them as three women from France and drew on the cross-dressing themes from Shakespeare's 'Twelfth Night'. The shipwreck and Olivia disguising herself as Cesario and falling in love are taken from that play. Rosalind disguising herself as Ganymede is obviously from 'As You Like It', and Dernhelm is Éowyn's male alter-ego in Lord of the Rings. The name Éowyn is so obviously not French that I chose Rohan, the realm in which Éowyn lives, instead.

Four Calling Birds

Four calling birds? Try four colly birds. As in black birds. This is a case where the modern song has derived sounds from the original verses but not retained its meaning. In the Middle Ages, people ate colly birds (blackbirds) - remember the four and twenty baked in a pie? - so this is more food. I decided to keep the blackbird theme but use the 'calling' to inspire a cry for justice or revenge from four prisoners. The common male blackbird is black with a yellow beak (hence the colour I use for the more dangerous prisoners), while the adult females and juveniles are dark brown (the innocent Druids). In the wild, a blackbird's predators are often birds of prey known 'Accipiters, particularly the Sparrowhawk. Goshawks, Shikras and Besras are names of other accipiters or other breeds of Sparrowhawks so I used these as the names for the people who turned our prisoners in. And of course, since these birds would have been eaten, I used the theme of consumption for their execution.

Five Golden Rings

As you've probably gathered from the story, the "five gold rings" referred to are actually five pheasants hunted for a feast. From Roman times onward the eating of pheasants was reserved for royalty. Not only were nobility the only ones allowed to hunt them, but their habitats were preserved as well so they would be available to hunt. One of the websites I used to research the song spoke of 'peasants going cold and hungry while surrounded by a forest full of trees and game' and this obviously inspired my story.

That image reminded me of popular Christmas songs, such as 'Good King Wenceslas'. Although the 'Twelve Days of Christmas' is manifestly not a religious song, the Twelve Days themselves are. So I decided to incorporate the notion of Christian charity as contained in such songs and stories - 'Tiny Tim' also springs to mind. However, unlike Scrooge, who also set in place measures to help improve the Crachit family's lives long-term, 'Good King Wenceslas' would have been better off improving the lot of his peasants rather than sending a one-off feed. I had M/M acknowledge this notion of 'charity' as well as I wanted their actions to seem selfless rather than patronising.

Six Geese a Laying

Well, if you can't work this one out there's something wrong.

Geese were a traditional Christmas meal but these geese are laying, which would have meant a regular supply of eggs. I've gone for the fertility symbol, fitting in with the Twelfth Night themes of food and partying.

Seven Swans a Swimming

Swans have long been associated with royalty and are another bird that would have been eaten at a feast. Swans were (and still are) owned by the monarchy in the UK and it seemed appropriate to have seven noble men swimming (well, six noble men and Merlin, but he's kind of important so... anyway).

Eight Maids a Milking

In the middle ages, "going-a-milking" was a euphemistic way of asking for sex or marriage (or both). For this chapter, I chose seven female characters (and one male) to represent eight aspects of love, sex and marriage.

Nine Ladies Dancing

In the song, nine ladies dancing refers to Midwinter festivities and is, actually, ladies dancing. So I took some licence again, this time drawing on the Buffy musical for inspiration. I very much wanted, however, to continue the notion of the Twelfth Night taking the current social order and overturning it. Uther's determination to keep this order is, I think, important in understanding his character.

Ten Lords a Leaping

Unlike "nine ladies dancing", which would have been noble ladies dancing for their own enjoyment, "ten lords-a-leaping" would have been professional entertainers brought in to dance between courses of the feasts. By the time this song was written down, they were possibly Morris dancers but Morris dancing definitely evolved long after the 600 – 900 AD period where this is set (more like the 16th and 17th centuries).

To fit in with my theme of reversals and challenges to the social order, I've chosen a troupe of cross-dressing male performers (women would not have performed professionally at this time so men took women's roles). For some reason, in all human societies across time, people have found men dressed as women hilarious. It's one of the great mysteries of life; right up there with Big Brother and the popularity of rugby.

Eleven Pipers Piping

We're up to the entertainment portion of the song so the pipers are just pipers who would have performed at feasts. The pipers here are literal pipers and I've concentrated mostly on progressing M/M's relationship and preparing for Part 12.

Twelve Drummers Drumming

This chapter is split into two parts: the prologue dealing with the spell cast by the pipers, representative of the madness of Twelfth Night when social rules would be cast aside; the main chapter deals with power and who in society wields it. The reversing of power and social rules is very much a theme of traditional Twelfth Night celebrations.

Twelfth Night encompasses two ideas in culture: one is the Christian celebration of epiphany eve (twelfth night itself) and the other is the older traditional end of the midwinter feasting. The epiphany is the day the three Wise Men, also known as the Three Kings or Magi, from the East arrived in Bethlehem bringing gifts to the Christ child.

At the end of season, there would be a day where the roles of Kings and peasants would reverse and the Lord of Misrule symbolised the world turning upside down. This has obviously been very much my theme – women taking on men's roles, men dressing as women, women being portrayed as sexually assertive rather than passive, and the peasant being in control and having the power (as represented by Merlin). Morgana and Arthur both have to deal with the fact that Merlin has more power than them in some ways; even if he has no social power.

The drums have long been a symbol of announcements; of getting people's attention. Of course, in the song, they probably would have just been used to announce the next course of the feast. In this chapter, I've used them to announce the army and to announce that the Twelfth Night has arrived and our song is over.

Epiphany

In my story, this refers to Arthur's epiphany. I am not in any way comparing Merlin to a Christ figure. This song is not religious, as I've said before, and this is not a religious epiphany. It refers to Arthur's realisation that despite Merlin having magic, he is still Merlin. And he will protect him.


End file.
